Dear Potter, if I were dating you
by Draco's Felix
Summary: If you asked Harry how he got into Malfoy Manor, he couldn't tell you. If you asked him why he was currently under Draco's bed, he wouldn't know. Because apparently, sudden memory loss is a side effect of shock, and Harry is very shocked to find a piece of parchment entitled 'Dear Potter, if I were dating you' under Draco's bed, clearly in Malfoy's handwriting. *Being rewritten.*
1. Candor

**A/N: Set not long after the war/Deathly Hallows finishes. Also worth noting that I've written nine pieces in past tense; this was a moment for present tense. Bare with me here. **

* * *

If you were to ask Harry how he got into Malfoy Manor, he'll say that he can't tell you. If you ask him why he is currently under Draco's bed, he'll tell you he doesn't know. Because apparently, sudden memory loss is a side effect of shock.

And Harry is very, very shocked.

Wand illuminated and otherwise in the darkness of Draco's room, he's holding a piece of parchment that he's smoothed out from the scrunched ball it was in. It has words on it. Words Harry can read. Words Harry can understand.

But words Harry can't possibly believe are on the paper in front of him.

_**Dear Potter, if I were dating you.**_

Harry has been staring at those seven letters for the last ten minutes. He just can't seem to get past them.

_**Dear Potter, if I were dating you.**_

It's definitely Malfoy's handwriting. Harry is sure. It's neater and more beautiful than the last time Harry saw it. Long and elegant loops – travelling etchings that sing like calligraphy.

_**Dear Potter, if I were dating you.**_

_**Um, I have no idea why I'm writing this. My mother's idea. I don't have a fucking clue how she knows but she knows. Not that that makes any sense to you. Not that **_**you **_**know. **_

_**I guess that's first on the list. If I were dating you, you'd actually know how I **__**feel. **__**I quite like you, you know.**_

_**Fuck it.**_

_**Here's your fucking list, Potter. I hope you're happy. Or at least mum will be. Not that either of you will ever see this.**_

_**1. If I were dating you, I could finally tell you **__**how much I like you.**__** Love you. Adore you. Get crazy mad butterflies every time I see you. To the point where I start to feel sick and all I can do is hate you. No wonder mum has banned newspapers from the house. After you killed the noseless creep, you were all over them. With the ginger girl weasel. Do you know how many times I vomited? I'm too ashamed to write it down. I'd love to say that you being all kissy with the Weasley bitch is my reason for throwing up, but I don't even see her anymore. Just you. Except I won't see you anymore. Not for real. Maybe a glimpse when I'm allowed back out onto the streets, but I'll never get close to you. Do you know what that feels like? Knowing that you'll **__**never, **_**NEVER **_**again be able to get within 10 feet of the boy you've been in love with since childhood? It makes me physically ill. I just can't–––––––––––**_

_**2. If I were dating you, I could be next to you. Just next to you. You'll never get it––––––––**_

_**I can't do this.**_

Harry watches the words turn into wobbly lines that trail away, and guesses that's when the tears that stain the page dripped from Draco's eyes. Somewhere inside Harry's mind, a tiny voice of reason is screaming at him to stop and think about what he's reading. But it goes entirely ignored by the rest of Harry's head. He chooses to carry on reading, as if he could ever stop.

Now the handwriting changes; more practiced, sure and sophisticated a style graces the page. Words by Narcissa: Harry recognises her elegant script from a thank you letter she wrote after the war was over.

_You vomited eleven times before I banned the newspapers. You smashed nine of my vases in your rage afterwards. Screamed at three of the house elves, and cried for at least four hours after each time. If I hadn't of realised what was going on after that, I would have been the worst mother in history. But if I'm honest, Draco dear, I've known for seven years now, can't we talk about it already?_

_P.s. Mind your language, Draco. You're a Malfoy, not an indigenous drunk._

_**MOTHER! What the hell were you doing in my room? I come back to my list and find this? And no we CAN'T talk about it. EVER. E.V.E.R. So stop asking. Anyway, you'll never see this again because I'm hiding it. I don't know why I'm still writing to you. I'm going back to my list.**_

_**3. Potter, honestly, this needs to be said, but I would make you publically presentable. Okay, so I find it endlessly hot that your hair sticks up in a funny way that makes you look like you've just been shagged into a carpet, but also kind of scary. What if you have been? I prefer to think you've just never heard of a hairbrush. That's a thing you brush your hair with, by the way. I'd make you use one. The only time you should look like you've just been shagged into a carpet is when **_**I've **_**just shagged you into a carpet. Which I could do very well.**_

_**4. Hot sex. I will say no more. I need a wank now. **_

_If you've inherited any of my skills in that department, that alone could convince him._

_**That's disgusting, mom. How the hell did you find this anyway? I hid it! And for good reason, it's totally inappropriate for you to be reading this!**_

_I'm your mother, I know how to find things. And you're nearly 18 now, nearly an adult, of course you're going to have... urges. _

_**This is the most awkward thing in the history of the world.**_

_More awkward than that time "little Draco" got a bit excited when you got a little too close to Harry?_

_**HOW THE HELL WOULD YOU KNOW ABOUT THAT? AND HOW THE FUCK DO YOU KEEP FINDING THIS MERLIN-CURSED PARCHMENT?**_

_Pansy told me, that girl is a terrible gossip. And I won't tell you how I keep finding it. It's a secret. Now, get on with your list. Do you need a helping hand? I have plenty of ideas for you._

_5. If you were dating Harry, maybe you'd stop being so ill all the time. And crying for days on end. And breaking my vases, and refusing to eat, and scaring the house elves. Maybe you'd actually be happy when you're _not _absolutely drunk from the firewhiskey you keep stealing from your father's stash._

_6. Then I can stop covering for you. Your father thinks I'm an alcoholic._

_**Thank you, mum. And I'm sure you realise that last sentence was sarcastic. And this was MY list the last time I checked.**_

_**5. If I were dating Potter, maybe I'd actually be happy. Ever. Even alcohol doesn't block out the pain anymore.**_

_**6. Potter, you should date me because my dad would have a heart attack. Worth it, non? **__DRACO!_

_**7. I'd buy you decent clothes. Ones that show off how truly beautiful you are. You look gorgeous even in those rags, but I know exactly what to put you in so that people will stop, stare and drop to their knees because they think they've seen an angel.**_

_**8. I'd make sure you would never throw out the glasses. Those round spectacles were the first thing I ever of saw of you. About half a second before I saw the rest of your face and nearly had a heart attack. I fucking hate how that feeling never went away. **_

_**9. If I were dating you, you'd make seven years of adoration into a lifetime. You know I'd love you till the day I died.**_

_**10. That's a lie. I **_**will **_**love you till the day I die. Even though you'll never know. **_

_**11. You make me soppy. As you can clearly see. If we actually dated I might just turn into a pool of sop. How embarrassing. I'm going to stop this crap now. **_

_No! Draco, this is good! Carry on!_

_**Woman, will you ever leave me in peace?**_

_Tell you what, do a few more and then I'll tell you how I keep finding this parchment, and, as you wish, I will then leave you in peace._

_**Fine.**_

_**12. Potter. I'm being soppy only for the sake of my mother, do you understand? Right. Okay. Number 12 is that we could spend our days being happy and certainly not soppy. **_

_**13. We would go flying together. In the rain. Or in the night. I've never flown with you. Only against you.**_

_**14. I'd tell you how I hate going against you, but love it at the same time. When else do you pay attention to me? I pushed myself to the very limit so I could be your equal, but I was so afraid. I always wanted to be the one person to challenge you.**_

_**15. I'd tell you everything else, too. There's so much. So much you still don't know. Like how, in the forest, my mother would have lied for you even if I were dead. Because she knew how much it would have meant to me.**_

_**16. My mother likes you, you know. She would have accepted you into the family with open arms. Can't say the same for my father, but we could have had fun winding him up. And elves tend to like you. I'm sorry about Dobby, by the way. I heard.**_

_**17. If you were ever mine, you'd know that if I could have, I would have stopped my mad Aunt Bella from killing him. I know he was your friend.**_

_**18. We would actually be friends.**_

_**Mother, can I stop now? This is too painful. I can't do this stupid exercise anymore. It's not helping anything.**_

_You're wrong, it is. Your night terrors are getting better._

_**Night terrors?**_

_You don't remember them, such is the nature of night terrors, but in the night you scream and trash about. You call for Harry over and over again, you tell him to run, to leave you, to get away from Voldemort. I've been meaning to tell you for... well, years. But you refuse to talk about Harry so I never got the chance._

_So 19. From the bottom of my heart, I know that if you were next to Harry, the night terrors would go away._

_Don't have a fit, but I simply accio'd the paper each time. Put a charm on the stuff you want to keep private. But never forget I'm always here, sweetheart._

_**Fucking accio! Paper charmed. I guess it's just me and you now, Harry.**_

_**19. If I were next to you, you'd take away all the nightmares, all the pain. And I would do the same for you.**_

_**Who am I kidding? You wouldn't touch me with a nine foot pole, let alone let me hold you, and I'm just talking to myself on paper. How pathetic.**_

_**20. If we were dating, I could finally send this to you. Like my first point... You'd know that, well... I love you. Nothing else matters. If I could just tell you, just let you know, how much you mean to me... You could reject me in the cruellest of ways, tell everyone, but still I could live in peace. Without this burden of loving you anonymously. You would know and that would be all I need. But thing is, I'm a coward. I can't dare tell you. I could never tell you. I can't even write you a letter saying **_**thank you **_**because after that, I will never have an excuse to write to you again. I lose you. Forever.**_

_**I always forget that you can't lose what isn't yours. And you were **_**never **_**mine.**_

Harry sighs heavily as he finishes reading. What revelations burn him, what strange weights lay on his chest.

He needs to reply. How can he leave a man like this, leave him hanging and so hopeless?

But before his mind can scatter into rational thoughts, he hears Hermione hiss his name. They need to go.

Harry quickly scrunches up the letter and stuffs it in his pocket. He will have time to think about that later. Right now, he needs to get out. Hermione has found what she, Ron and Harry were looking for: books about Horcruxes that they intend to destroy – they don't need any more Voldemorts.

Another thing Harry doesn't need any more of is fans. Admirers.

But this isn't just another admirer, is it?

This is Malfoy. A man in love with Harry.

A love disguised as hate. What this discovery means to him, Harry doesn't yet know. He stumbles out from under the bed, and quietly runs after Hermione. They make it out of the house undetected and when the trio safely apparate away, Harry tells his two friends he's going to spend tonight alone at Grimmauld Place.

Late at night, he smoothes out the paper again, uncrinkling it against the desk.

_**Dear Potter, if I were dating you.**_

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**A/N: This was actually supposed to be a one-shot. But I don't think it feels like a one-shot, do you? Maybe I'll write some more. If you want me to, of course :) Let me know, and thank you for reading! ~Felix**


	2. Renegement

Harry receives hundreds of letters a week. Thank you letters, letters asking for help, chatty letters, casual letters, dark letters, letters full of offers and secrets of every kind.

Love letters.

Harry used to throw them away. All of them. The thank you letters, letters asking for help, the chatty letters, the casual letters, dark letters, letters full of offers and secrets of every kind. The love letters.

But not now. Now he keeps them.

He opens every single one, sometimes barely bothering to read past the first line, sometimes absorbed attentively, but always looking for any sign of Malfoy.

Sometimes the handwriting on the envelope is so similar to Draco's that Harry gets a tiny flutter of hope. He flushes and his stomach bounds up and down, but in the back of his mind, he always knows that this is not _Draco's_ letter. Even the styles that would look identical to his to everyone, Harry's eyes instantly pick out as imposers. The letters of Harry's address are always too bold, or too neat; the loops too large or too small, the flicks of their '_h_'s, '_n_'s and '_r_'s too delicate and sweet.

It has been about two weeks since Harry stole the crumpled letter from under Draco's bed, and not a day has gone past when he hasn't looked at it. On some days, when he's sat at home in isolation, he'll read it at hourly intervals or out loud. Not that he needs to – he knows it off by heart.

Sometimes he'll find himself reciting it. Counting though the numbers in the shower, or when eating breakfast, during Hermione's endless lectures or deep in the night when he can't sleep.

_**19. If I were next to you, you'd take away all the nightmares, all the pain. And I would do the same for you.**_

_And I would do the same for you, _the voice in Harry's mind whispers as he falls asleep.

If you were to say that Harry has considered the implications of his substantial fixation, I could call you a liar. He hasn't.

He's a man of faith not thought, all _Lions_ and no _Ravenclaw_. Always actions by impulse, never thinking how he _could _act, how he _should _react, what _anyone else _would say – after all, Draco Malfoy isn't _theirs_, is he? In a world that flings him around like a toy for play, a life that is endless twists and turns and complications, Harry has found a certain centre, a sure thing he can know, that belongs to him alone. _Draco._

So if you were to say that Harry gets his thrills at 4am, when he's sat alone on the couch with his feet up on the table, coffee cup in hand, parchment in the other and in the semi-darkness of the London witching hours, then I could call you a person of truth.

_The world is asleep. _Harry's mind murmurs, _But you are awake. And perhaps so is he, thoughts on you like yours are on him. _

For reasons he can't comprehend, those words bring him comfort and warmth. An intimate connection, a private thought that nobody else can know of, a feeling of companionship that runs through Harry's body in these strange moments.

It almost seems ever so natural to Harry now, to have obsessions he can't understand, thoughts he won't think about and dreams he can't apprehend.

What's new, anyway? Certainly not an obsession with Draco Malfoy – or a piece of writing. Barely a year had passed since his last stint with both of those.

But this is entirely different, and that's a fact Harry can't deny.

Not that he thinks that there's anything _wrong _with the way he feels about Malfoy. If you'd found out that seven years of pure hate was simply a guise, you'd be curious, wouldn't you? He can't dislike the man anymore either. _That _would be wrong, wouldn't it? To hate someone who feels so deeply and profoundly for you.

And it's not as if Harry can even stop himself thinking about what it would be like if he were with Malfoy.

When he wakes in the morning, gray sunlight streaming through the wispy curtains, still half-asleep, remembering dreams of Malfoy as if they were memories, he tells himself that these are not _his _fantasies, not _his_ ideas. It's not like he can control his thoughts; or other parts of his body, at that...

When Harry awakes from vivid visions of kisses and skin on skin, panting and painfully aroused, he tells himself that this isn't _his _fault, and that he can't _not _think about it now. You'd _have _to think about it. This is _normal. _

He strains the words to convince himself, but all along it doesn't even occur to him that there might be a difference in feelings about sex with a man and sex with a woman.

No. The way Harry feels about Malfoy is perfectly natural. Harry is simply _curious. _

He hopes that Draco's own curiosity will break him, and that the boy will finally write to him. Something. Anything. Just so Harry can talk to him, respond.

After all, it's only a matter of time before they collide, isn't it? They can't live like this, one in love and the other knowing, forever.

Harry's just waiting now.

* * *

Harry can't believe he let this happen. How could he have been so stupid?! So _gullible. _

Hermione had turned up on his doorstep this morning. Mumbled something about needing to get him out the house. Spurred everlasting dialogue about the dangers of not getting enough fresh air or somewhat. Honestly, Harry loves the girl but sometimes he wishes she would just shut it.

_Just come out for a day, _she'd pleaded.

_Just me and you and Ron, _she'd promised.

_It's a surprise, _she'd giggled.

_I swear to God I'll Imperio you, Harry Potter! _She'd threatened.

Harry had agreed to go only so that he wouldn't have to invite her further inside the house, lest she might see the cascade of scattered letters that covered the living room and kitchen floors.

_Oh c'mon, it's not that bad! _She'd said to a horrified Harry when they'd arrived at their destination.

_Sorry, mate. _Ron had muttered afterwards.

Sure, it's just Harry and Hermione and Ron. And everyone else in Diagon Alley.

Harry muffles through the crowd, ignoring the world, apologising for bumping into everybody but only looking at his feet. This is his worst nightmare. _Shopping. _In the most densely packed area of magically-dominated land in the whole of Britain. And what, about three weeks after becoming the most famous wizard who ever lived? Yep, this was going to go just bloody _fantastic_ for Har–

"Malfoy scum!" Someone screeches in a croaked and brazen voice.

Harry comes to an abrupt stop both in thoughts and physicality, and spins around on his heels quicker than anyone thought was humanly possible. Across dozens of heads, he strains his eyesight to see a short, fat man screaming at Narcissa. What? _How dare he!_

Harry, a frown across his forehead and determination in his shoulders, breaks through the crowd with what is practically a sprint. The layer of gasping and smirking people is thick, and it is almost a minute before Harry ribbons through them.

"I promise you, _nobody _here wants to see your Death Eating face ever again! Away with you, you murderer!" The man is shrieking to the blonde Malfoy when Harry reaches the front of the congregation. The woman doesn't retaliate, doesn't reply, only taking the abuse valiantly, and Harry looses it.

"_What in Merlin's name?!_" He shouts to the deeply shocked man, "_How can you say that?_"

The little man shifts his weight uncomfortably as silence falls within fifty feet of the scene.

"Well, um, she's an arrogant Death Eater, sir." The man mumbles unsurely, "I thought you would have wanted to rid the world of types like her..."

Harry raises his voice so everyone could hear him crystal clear, but keeps his gaze only on the regretful addressed. "_Narcissa Malfoy does not bare the dark mark._" He elucidates, "And without _types like her _I would be dead and Voldemort would have won and ruled over _all _of you. I owe my _life _to this woman."

A hush of bare whispers travels through the streets.

"_And to her son, too. _Who _does _bare the dark mark." Harry adds, barely suppressing a smile as the whole community is shook with chatter and rumours and shock.

He takes the chance of distraction to escape with Narcissa in tow, taking her to an empty alleyway.

"Thank you." She says, but her voice is cold and proud, like it always has been. Did she not appreciate Harry's help? Did Draco not write that his mother liked him? Green eyes, like their heart, fall to the floor.

"No, Harry, I mean, _thank you._" She says with incredible softness now, seeing Harry's anguish and disappointment, putting a gentle hand on his shoulder, and watching his eyes light up again like the stars and the moon at night.

"How... How's Draco?" Harry breathes quickly, not being able to hold back his words.

"Draco is..." –She flinches– "fine."

"He's not here with you?"

Harry bites his lip, feeling stupid for his own urgent ways. Narcissa offers him a small smile.

"No." She says quietly. "Draco..."

Both of them hold their breath until she manages to finish.

"Draco doesn't leave the house often."

"Oh."

No more words are spoken. Narcissa simply nods and Harry watches as she walks a little distance and apparates away, gaze intent and all-seeing as she turns her eyes back to take one last glace at Harry before vanishing into the thick and dirty air of the alley. A gaze like Draco's, only with the wisdom of age. A tiny shiver runs down Harry's spine at the thought of those gray eyes pouring over him with their usual arrogance and hidden intent.

By the time Hermione and Ron find him, bursting and blooming with questions (or Ron's case, having a spastic breakdown of '_why!'s, 'when!'s and 'how!'s_), Harry is all out of words, patience and everything in-between. His mind is in disarray, confusion and insecurity dominating every last thought about Malfoy he's ever had. He simply shakes his head at his friends, purses his lips and proceeds to apparate away despite the couple's spluttering objections.

* * *

It's 6am. Harry hasn't bothered sleeping since the Narcissa incident yesterday. Not because he isn't tired, though, but simply because if he goes into his room and lies down in his bed, he knows that he'll have to pull out Draco's parchment from under the pillow and read it. And that's the one thing he doesn't want to do. For the last sixteen and a half hours, Harry has been trying to push out thoughts of Narcissa, Lucius and Draco...frankly _anything_ with the word Malfoy attached to it.

He's sat in the living room, head in his hands, wishing with all the life of him that Sirius or Lupin or Dumbledore were still alive. Hell, he would have even taken Snape's sarcasm just so that he could have someone to talk to. He can't tell to Ron or Hermione. And certainly not Ginny, either. Imagine that. Turning up to his girlfriend: "Hi Ginny, can I talk to you about the small matter of Draco Malfoy being slightly madly in love with me? 'Cause I'm feeling kinda unsure about it... I'm worried his mother hates me. Also that I'm hurting him just by existing, but I can't bring myself to write to him first. Which, you know, isn't good, seeing as I occasionally have wet dreams about him, and bluntly speaking, think about him more often than about you."

Yep. That conversation would go down well. _Smooth, Harry, _he tells himself, _you're a master of words._

The boy rubs his bottle green eyes, yawning slightly and lifting his tired face to look out of the window.

"HOLY–!" He exclaims at the sight that rests beyond the glass planes. There, waiting and watching is some large, dark creature on the windowsill. Harry isn't sure if it's an owl or a falcon, only knowing it looks very dangerous and ever so slightly pissed.

He hops up off his spot and cautiously opens the window – the bird simply waits for Harry to detach the post and flies away, looking far happier now that it's airbourne and free.

Harry looks down at the envelope in his hands. He doesn't have to look past a beautifully scribed _**Harry Potter **_to know what he's holding between his fingertips.

Harry's letter from Draco.

* * *

**A/N: Hmmmm, well what does one say in an author's note? I guess _thank you _is all too appropriate here... you've all been so lovely and supportive! I've never had such a warm response to a story before :) I hope you like this chapter as much as you did the first - I am aware they're quite different. I'd also like to say that I _l.o.v.e. _writing in present tense, makes such an interesting change (and really keeps an author on her toes!), but I'd also love to know what you think of it :) Let me know! ~felix :D**


	3. Veneration

**A/N: If you've already read this chapter and it did not have this note, please note I have added to it since. The beginning of the new part is marked with * and it may be beneficial to your understanding of the entire story if you read it ;)**

* * *

Someone's hands are on his back. Pure, gentle and firm, they embed Harry in their warmth. _So familiar. _It is not like electricity. It is not like the burn; no exhilaration nor excitement to be found here. There is no urgency or anticipation in the contact, nothing but sienna grey beyond the acquiescent hands on Harry's back.

No time to measure the hours by. This is not the tinted perfection brought with falling in love.

No. This is like the bit that comes afterwards. _Loving but not being in the fall. _When everything else dies, it is this strange entity of emotion that remains, hidden in a deep sleep on the edges of the soul. It is the sand that can be seen when the water is still, waves leaving with the initial thrill as new horizons are chased, as the earliest pleasure flies away, somewhere into the eastern wind – somewhere far into the north. It is the life after romance, the stitches in the blanket that keep it together so you may have the comfort and warm of it; not the sequins and patterns that make it shine.

The hands leave scars of memories as they go, tracing epic journeys across ever-aging skin. They are so profoundly connected to Harry, they might as well be his own. They are a part of him.

They whisper without words; the delicate touch of skin on skin the language of life-long lovers. In their veneration they breathe Harry's name over and again, a kingdom where fingertips are vowels and open palms can be consonants. The touch lingers as if a single declaration of Harry's name will last for a million years, and when the valleys made of skin inhale, the veins reply with sighs that sing: _Harry... Harry... Harry..._. When Harry wakes, heart in the softness of a peace he does not understand, he cannot hear the voice, cannot remember who it belongs to.

The hands are gone, and he is alone in the dim shadow that is Grimmauld Place. His softness fades, peace evaporates and only stale air remains.

* * *

It's been three whole days since the Narcissa incident, but if anyone were to tell Harry that _years _have passed since that day, he could almost believe them.

Three days. Three days in a suspended confusion and slippery madness.

Harry has been all alone.

He's made a coma for himself: let go of the outside world, locking himself almost exclusively inside his new-found library. _Library _being an extremely loose term, of course.

After Draco's letter, Harry had sought comfort and gone to Sirius' room, so that he might at least talk to his Godfather's memory; but something had leered him to Regulus' room instead, the Slytherin's habitat suddenly feeling almost natural to enter. While poking his way around the room, Harry had inadvertently come across some sort of inter-house portkey – a small rock whose home was on Regulus' windowsill. Harry had found himself in the attic at the touch of the stone, stood surrounded by a litter of open books, each with the word _Horcrux _etched into the pages somewhere, their secrets betrayed by the grey light streaming from the skylight windows. It was otherwise so dark in the attic that Harry could see every speck of dust that fell into the path of the dim sunlight, dancing happily, welcoming their first visitor in so long. This place is as lonely as Harry. He calls it his _library _because of the towering and endless sets of books that fill into every corner of the roof space. What Harry had actually found was a dusty, dark and conceited place full of books on dark magic and blood power, strange objects Harry has never heard of before and animals he is sure can't exist. These encyclopedias of impossible things are arranged in what appeared to be a chaotic and undecipherable composition of orders and piles, only co-ordinated by a hand drawn map of the make-shift library, numbered and labelled with such titles as 'Dangerous', 'Azkaban-Bound' and 'Hallownian powers of 691'. One such pile even bares the title 'Dumbledore', which meant Harry instantly stuttered over to it. This particular collection of books holds titles on alchemy and transfiguration and blood, all the things Dumbledore was famous for, and then some others whose reason for ending up in the pile Harry could only guess at: a few strange and nameless books; some that are obscure and rare, written in Latin and looking just as old as the language itself; some full of symbols and words that hurt Harry's eyes just to look at (although he knows not why); and two books of childhood fairytales. Perhaps Regulus thought Dumbledore might enjoy them.

Harry shamelessly explored the rest of the room, foolishly poking around the other books as if they were toys. He discovered the words of the books in the _Divinations _pile move around constantly, forming sentences that make no sense, and sometimes even new words. The _Dangerous _books are liable to try and bite your fingers off or burn you, and there is a giant chest that belonged to this corner of the room – Harry thinks that there is a very good reason the locks on it are so big. Curious as he is, he doesn't really want to personally go and find out what is in the chest. Something that would try and kill him, no doubt.

Regulus had built up quite a collection in his suicidal Horcrux-destroying mission, and Harry still wishes they'd found it while they themselves were hunting Horcruxes: although the magic in these books is significantly darker than anything Harry would have really felt comfortable using, some of the books contain information that could have proved invaluable. These books are primarily located in the heaps that bear the names: _Destruction methods, Spells to find _and _Protection & spells to hide. _

In fact, Harry had been able to ensure his recent self-enforced isolation with the aid of a spell in a book from the last pile named. The enchantment is similar to the _Fidelius Charm_ already on Grimmauld Place, but only the owner of the house (which is now Harry) can set and regulate this charm, called a _Vinerlope Enchantment_. Harry set the charm so that only owls and house elves could find their way in, and made sure he wrote to Ron and Hermione explaining that there was new protection on the house.

**It's very good for my safety and really, I just need some alone time,** he'd written, **you know, to think.**

Hermione had replied with capitalised fits of rage and confusion, arriving in person shortly after her letter did, Ron in tow. Harry had watched guiltily from the window at their utter disorientation at not being able to find number 12 Grimmauld Place. Hermione was going to be something far beyond furious when she found out about the library.

He could hear her now: "You've been concealing _books _from me?!"

Harry hasn't replied to her subsequent letters.

In fact, there's only one person whose letters he has been replying to.

His written conversations with Draco have been well in the region of their usual insulting language, but seemingly far more good-natured than usual. Maybe Harry just thinks they are because he knows that nothing Draco writes is really _that _vindictive – he knows that the abuse and up-front malice is a work of something quite different than actual hate, although Harry had no doubt that Malfoy must hate him at least a bit.

Sitting in the library-attic, Harry rereads their letters from Draco's first words of contact.

_**Potter.**_

_**This letter is somewhat overdue. I have written to say thank you. Both for saving my life and saving my mother, although the latter means far more to me than the first. **_

_**That being said, I know it must be hard for you to suppress your Gryffindor ego and cutesy hero complex in public, what with all the attention and all, but stop dragging me into it. You in no way, shape or form owe me your life to me so stop saying that you do. I don't care for this wholly idiotic idea of respecting your enemies or whatever, it means I've received more letters from Skeeter than death threats from everyone else, which is really saying something. She happens to be EXTREMELY ANNOYING. If this is all some kind of Gryffindorish entertainment, I swear on Merlin's long and bushy beard I will track you down and hex you even if it lands me in Azkaban.**_

_**I refuse to sign this. As much as it endlessly amazes me, even you have a satisfactory number of brain cells to catch onto who wrote this.**_

Harry couldn't help but laugh at Draco's idea of gratitude. The prat still hadn't changed!

Draco's letter barely took up a third of the parchment and Harry, smiling as he did so, had immediately replied to it directly underneath Draco's own words.

**Malfoy.**

**You're welcome. But you have no right to complain to me about Skeeter. That woman harasses me day and night like she has nothing better to do. That being said, you **_**did**_** save my life. You refused to identify me when I was dragged into Malfoy Manor with Ron and Hermione. We would have been Greyback chew toy if it wasn't for you, so even more late than yours: thank you. **

**Also, this is not some Gryffindor game. We're not twelve anymore (although I can still beat you at Quidditch any day). I'm rather confused, actually. I didn't publically announce you saved my life to bounce up your ****ego, I said it because it was true, but shouldn't you be loving the attention in either way? Some kind of sudden change of heart, Malfoy?**

**Doesn't seem like you.**

**-Harry.**

**P.S. Get out the house. You mother said you were indoors a lot and fresh air is good for you – Hermione says so, so it must be true.**

Harry had carefully folded the letter into a fresh envelope, the parchment now full, Harry's own handwriting far more unruly and wild, taking up much more room than Draco's beautiful script. He'd sent his new owl, Inzing, to Wiltshire and to Harry's surprise, Malfoy's falcon/owl/scary bird reached Harry before his own animal had even returned. Even more to Harry's surprise, he discovered Malfoy had simply turned the parchment over and wrote on the back.

_**Potter,**_

_**Good for you, somewhat life threatening for me. Since when did you make a habit of questioning my mother about me?**_

_**No, Skeeter has no life outside stalking you. And no, I refuse to talk about that night.**_

_**I told my bird to wait for your reply, seeming as you seem to be up at ridiculous hours of the morning. It'll save bird-energy.**_

_**-Draco Malfoy.**_

_**P.S. My heart is quite the same, thank you very much, I'd just much rather everyone fucked off now. **_

When Harry had looked up, the bird had indeed still been there, looking bad tempered as usual. Harry scribbled down his reply and stuffed the letter back in the envelope, cautiously attaching it to the bird.

**Malfoy,**

**Even me?**

**-Harry.**

The bird was back within a matter of hours – it must have been on the ground for a whole three seconds before being sent off again back to London.

_**Especially you.**_

The falcon-owl was starting to look really angry.

**Why Malfoy, I'm hurt. Why don't you stop writing to me, then? Also, I'm sending this with my owl, yours is starting to look, er, homicidal. Better give it a break, eh? What do you call it? And what breed is it? Barely looks like an owl to me. Mine's called Inzing and I suggest you feed him treats until you attach the post or he'd fly away, he's not "trained" like your beast.**

**-Harry.**

A different falcon-owl creature delivered the next letter, snowy white, like a giant Hedwig. Inzing came huffing and puffing behind, already tired out, collapsing in his cage almost instantly.

_**Potter,**_

_**Something tells me your owl won't be too pleased doing rounds either, he barely made it here alive. We have several cross-breeds between eagles and various large breeds of owls. They're almost unique and very good at what they do. You don't need to know their names, they're not elves. And **_**you****_ can_ **_**stop writing to me, you bollocking idiot!**_

_**-Draco M.**_

Harry still has no idea why most of their conversation was owl based.

**Malfoy,**

**I will once you tell me the name of your owls. **

**-Harry.**

_**Potter,**_

_**Why the fuck would you be so interested in that?**_

_**-Draco.**_

Harry realised the conversation wasn't going far. It was time to step it up a notch, and Harry took a risk.

**Malfoy,**

**Why not? Why is it so hard to tell me? It's not like you're telling me you love me!**

**-Harry.**

Harry realises that what he did was cruel, but at least it would have made the Malfoy think, and that letter took slightly longer to return, so Harry knows it did.

_**Potter,**_

_**Weasley will get rich before I tell you I love you.**_

_**-Draco.**_

**Malfoy,**

**Witches weekly gave Ron 10,000 Galleons for posing topless on their front cover.**

**-Harry.**

_**Potter,**_

_**You're joking. Please tell me you're joking!**_

_**-Draco.**_

This is the last correspondence Harry has received. By now they're onto the back their second piece of parchment, but for some reason are still sending the first one back and forth with it, too. It almost feels natural now.

**Malfoy,**

**I do not tell lies. So, time to confess your undying love for me?**

**-Harry.**

Harry feels truly guilty for having written this, but his curiosity has made it irresistible for him to pry further. He shoves the two pieces of paper into the envelope and attaches it to the eagle-owl, the third one Draco has sent. Now it's just a waiting game.

* * *

_Three days later_

_..._

Draco _still _hasn't replied, and Harry is despairing now. He's written dozens of letters to the Malfoy, asking why he hasn't responded, explaining that what he said was only a joke, apologising.

He's sent none of them. The truth is that Harry is too scared to send them, but he kids himself by reasoning that it would be far too suspicious if he did.

Would it? They had saved each other's lives, victims of war on opposing sides. They'd have to come to terms with it – and each other – at some point.

It's reached the point where Harry is so desperately confused about it all that he's ready to talk to Hermione, although he's somewhat dreading it.

He's sent her an owl, telling her to come see him tomorrow – alone – and to bring firewiskey. One of them is going to need it. He also told her not to bother turning up early (as Hermione would undoubtedly do), as he's only going to change the enchantment to allow her in tomorrow. The main reason he doesn't want her arriving early is the sheer _mess _the house is in: dirty dishes and ripped envelopes everywhere, unwashed clothes and spider webs. Harry wishes he had a house elf, but as if Hermione would let him.

It's late at night now, some time past ten, and although Harry vowed to have the house clean by seven, it's still a wreck. If he doesn't get it clean by tomorrow, Hermione will scold him. He walks around the drawing room, carelessly flicking his wand and watching as the endless letters rise from the floor and fly upstairs to an near empty guest bedroom where they're going to be kept. He's having to walk around and free all those that are trapped.

It's a surprisingly daunting, boring and time-consuming job, even with magic, and Harry's mind floats off to think about other things. _I really need to write back to Ginny, _he thinks, _she's getting frantic, and she is technically my girlfr-_

Harry's train of thought entirely runs away from him as he spots a familiar little name peaking from under a pile of letters. He shuffles them away and finds a Daily Prophet dated from two days ago. The front line makes his heart stop.

**HEALER REFUSES TO TREAT YOUNGEST MALFOY – RIGHT OR WRONG?**

_**As the magical world attempts to return to normal life after the final fall of dark sorcerer Lord Voldemort, witches and wizard everywhere are asking – what to do with his former followers? This question is relevant to no one more than the Malfoys, and after their infamous abandon of the Death Eaters, both the Ministry of Magic and magical community alike are divided in opinion on exactly how the trio should be treated.**_

_**One person, however, Healer Kinnell of the St. Mungos emergency department, is very clear on her standing. When Draco Malfoy, former Death Eater and son of the notorious Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy, was brought to her last evening, unconscious after an attempt on his life, she refused to heal him.**_

"_**Dirty scum, those people are, only interested in taking lives." Healer Kinnell told us, "So why should I save theirs?"**_

_**Her statement comes just days after legendary wizard Harry Potter claimed that he owes both Draco Malfoy and his mother Narcissa Malfoy (of the Black family) his life. Draco Malfoy, however, denied the sentiment in a strongly-worded letter to journalist Rita Skeeter. **_

_**The seventeen year old's parents were quick to relocate him to a private site after Healer Kinnell refused him treatment, and no word has since been given on his whereabouts or condition – some people going so far as saying there is a possibility Healer Kinnell's actions may have lead to the death of the young Malfoy. Officials are investigating both this supposed act of neglect, and the circumstances in which young Mr. Malfoy came to harm. There are no known witnesses of the crime, and the only information that has been publically given is that the boy had left his house for the first time in some weeks for a walk.**_

_**Many support the healer in her stand, bringing multiple reasons for why she was right, including the reasons such as the fact that Draco Malfoy was never pleasant: always judgmental and self-righteous like his parents, a reason which has created scandal in it's own right. **_

_**Others were quick to judge Healer Kinnell, saying there is no reason for refusing to save the life of someone who is essentially still a child. Minvera McGonagall, current headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, as well as Draco Malfoy's former teacher, was one of the very first to speak out.**_

"_**What Healer Kinnell did was not only a disgusting act of segregation, which makes her no better than the Death Eaters which she so hates," Minvera McGonagall said, "but also in dire negligence of the duties of her job."**_

_**With the young Malfoy's eighteenth birthday looming on the horizon, the 5**__**th**__** of June, and nobody knowing if he will live to see it, the heated debate over the treatment of former Death Eater and Death Eater sympathisers deepens ever further.**_

When Harry finishes reading, he falls back on the sofa, his legs giving out as he hyperventilates.

Draco Malfoy, leaving the house for the first time in weeks – after Harry had told him he should.

_**Good for you, somewhat life threatening for me.**_

Draco's words echo through Harry's mind: he had been right. So regretfully right.

Unconscious. Unknown location. Unknown if he was dead or not.

It's all Harry's fault and he doesn't even know where to find him! Harry clutches his head in agony.

Since when had he come to care for the Slytherin so much? Harry ignores that thought – it isn't relevant right now: all that matters is finding Draco.

_Finding Draco. A spell to find._

Rushing up the stairs several at a time and bursting into Regulus' room, Harry touches the little portkey stone. It takes him instantly to the library, where the green-eyed Gryffindor chucks books left right and center until he finds the one he needs.

_C__arminibus __Q__ui __Q__uaerere__, _the title reads.

A book of spells to find things, or more specifically: find _people. _

It takes Harry nearly half an hour to find the spell he needs, growing more frantic with every passing minute. Draco could be dead – dying!

Eventually, he stumbles across something that should work regardless of the fact that he has no idea where Draco is. There's a lot of technicalities written about it, something to do with emotion and power of thought, stuff Hermione would call "fascinating!" – Harry skips it. He hasn't got the time.

Standing up and clutching his wand tightly, Harry thinks deeply of Draco through closed eyes, whispering the spell that should take him to the blonde: "_Quaerere Unum Diligatis..._"

***_Added:*_**

When he next opens his eyes, the sight before him is not what he could have ever expected.

He's stood in a giant room, looking into another through an open doorway, the other chamber illuminated only by the moon – full but for a tiny segment in the dark.

Yesterday brought the transformation of werewolves, tonight healing and resting as their agony subsides.

The space beyond the large oak doors is huge, reminiscent of French palaces from hundreds of years ago, walls and ceilings delicate in detail, colours in the greyscale of the night. It's empty but for a single piano, a piano stool and the musician upon it, his back to Harry and fingers running in endless journeys along the keys. These solitary voyages create a stream of overflowing notes, delicate and immeasurable, the music so beautiful Harry forgets to breathe entirely.

This is the most intimate thing he has ever felt.

Wispy, translucent curtains dance with the wind, warm and gentle from an open window, and with the rise and fall of the curtains, something wakes in the mind and something falls asleep, the melody transcending through Harry evermore, and he feels as if he has been transported somewhere far away.

There is cherry blossom, flowering like in spring, seamless fields of long grass and bottomless skies, coloured by early morning, bare evening, and the midday light.

Draco's head bobs up and down like the piano keys, his head so close to them, as if he would actually become part of the piano if he could. Around his blonde hair, Harry can see a bandage, white, wrapping around his entire head.

_Oh God, _Harry breathes in his heart, because he cannot make a sound with his mouth.

For a long time, nothing changes but the moonlight, which seems ever brighter as Harry's eyes adapt to the darkness.

He never moves.

Draco finishes quietly, and as he does so, he softy sighs, "_Oh Harry..._"

It completes the piece.

His arms come to a rest on top of the keys, and head on top of them, and Harry spends long minutes watching as his back moves gently with his breath, like the waves of a calm sea.

Eventually, Harry steps forward. He walks slowly to the middle of the room where the piano stands, looking down at Draco, his hair spilling onto the piano, like the watery silver edges of Harry's invisibility cloak.

On the lid of the instrument, there are an array of music scores, atop which lie Harry's letters. Underneath Harry's last words, there are six letters.

**_Harry,_**

**_I love you._**

**_Yours, Draco._**

He never would have sent it.

Harry bites his lip in guilt and glances down at Draco, who is soundly unconscious, one eye closed and the other hidden beneath the white bandage. Harry cannot bear to leave him here, asleep on this piano.

He quickly runs back to the other room and – yes, it is a bedroom. Harry had been so absorbed by the music he hadn't noticed. He makes his way back to Draco, picking him up, one hand around his back and the other under his knees and carries him to the bed in the other room.

Tucking him in, Harry knows it time to leave. He whispers '_redire me!' _and the enchantment takes him home, leaving him once again in the mist of his lonely library, the same light twinkling through the skylight yet not looking half so beautiful as it did but half a second before.

Neither the piano player nor his muse ever saw Narcissa, right side of her body pressed against the warm dark oak of the music room door frame. The door was open just enough as she stood in the corridor.

* * *

That night, Harry dreams of the hands again. They breathe his name once more, the voice in the silence after music. When Harry wakes, he can remember who the voice belongs to.

This time, the softness and the peace remain, ringing like a symphony in his ears.

* * *

**A/N: As always, I hope you enjoyed this and thank you for reading! :) Comments are like Christmas for writers, so leave me one if you like. ;) You can imagine any music you like for Draco's piece, but my personal inspiration for it was _Porcelain _by Helen Jane Long, a truly stunning piece of music that never fails to blow me away. More than anything, I recommend giving it a listen. With love, Felix :)  
**


	4. Symposium

**A/N: Hello all you shmexy people, this is an ****IMPORTANT****NOTE:**** if you read the last chapter and it did ****not**** have the added bit, I suggest you reverse your engines and head backwards a bit ;) I apologise for changing the chapter after I'd posted it, I initially decided to leave it on a cliff hanger (I love a cliff hanger, me) but I just couldn't shake the feeling that the chapter was incomplete without the next part. After that, something began to go fishy with the doc manager, which means random halves of sentences (!), words and letters magically vanished, and I had to go round correcting them, so I apologise deeply if you got about a thousand e-mails saying I'd updated. I blame Nargles. As a peace offering, I decided to get this chapter out to you early, so enjoy all you sweet little Drarrarians. ~Felix ;3**

* * *

When Harry opens the door, the first thing Hermione does is slap him.

Next, she throws her arms around Harry, hugging him tightly.

"Harry! What happened? I've been so worried! Everyone has been frantic about you – what on earth is going on? Have you been sleeping properly? And eating? Look at you! You're so thin–!"

She would have gone on much longer if Harry hadn't interrupted.

"I'm fine, Hermione, really. I've just been feeling a little... strange... recently."

"Strange how? It could be a side effect of losing your connection to Voldemort, or the fact that you were technically dead, and really, you should have gone to a hospital if you were feeling strange, who knows what kind of-"

"Hermione! I'm _fine_! It's not _that _kind of strange. It's kind of a long story, actually."

She looks at him blankly, and Harry beckons her inside, shutting the door behind them.

"You didn't get her pregnant, did you?" says Hermione, setting herself and several Butterbeers down at the kitchen table. Harry has foreseen this lack of Firewhiskey and produces a very old (and very dusty) bottle he's found in the panty, along with a couple of glasses, nearly dropping them because Hermione's attempt at a joke has caught him off guard.

"Pregnant-! Who-! _What?_"

"I was joking, Harry... About Ginny... That is what we're here to talk about, isn't it? I assume that's why you've been acting so strangely towards her recently, and why you didn't want me to bring Ron today..."

Harry sits himself down at the table so that he's facing Hermione.

"Well, no, not really, actually." He says, feeling a little guilty about Ginny, "I wanted to talk about someone else."

"Oh God Harry, you _haven't!_" Hisses Hermione, her voice falling to a whisper, "Ron will _kill _you!"

"No, no, don't worry!" He reassures her, "I haven't done anything or fallen in love with anyone else. The problem is actually that someone is in love with _me_."

"_Harry,_" says Hermione, putting on her motherly tone and pinching the bridge of her nose, "there are many, _many _people in love with you, or who say they're in love with you... Do you know how many letters I've received from people asking if I could help them get in touch with you because they think you'd make the perfect couple? Dozens! Dozens I tell you-!"

"This is different!" Harry objects.

"How?" Hermione snaps back, her voice sharp and her face frowning.

"Well this is someone actually we know... It's kind of unexpected, too..."

Harry shifts in his seat uncomfortably, and Hermione opens Butterbeers for them both.

"A professor?"

"_No!_ Why would you even think of that?" Harry screeches, horrified.

"Sorry sorry sorry!" Says the girl opposite him, face lighting up bright red, "Is it someone younger?"

"No..."

"Older?" She says, more cautiously this time.

"No..."

"So they're in our year?"

"Yes..."

"Another house?"

"Yeah..."

"A..." Hermione hesitates, "Boy...?"

"Maybe..."

"Well that isn't anything to worry about!" She says urgently, flustering up a bit and attempting another bad joke, "I mean, you know, unless it's Zabini!"

She giggles slightly and takes a quick swig of her Butterbeer.

"No. Malfoy, actually."

Hermione chokes and splutters her Butterbeer everywhere.

"Harry! You can't be serious! _He _can't be serious! It's just a really bad joke, or a bid for attention, or a –"

"Hermione, trust me, it's real."

"But how–"

"Wait here."

Harry ups from his seat and runs upstairs to his room, retrieving Draco's letter from under his pillow and bouncing back down the stairs, sitting down in his seat again, a little out of breath.

He hands the letter to Hermione.

_**Dear Potter, if I were dating you.**_

"That night, several weeks ago, when we were at the Manor looking for the _D-I-Y Horcrux _books, I found this under Draco's bed... And I mean, I had to take it... Who wouldn't?" Harry tries to explain, nervous, but he never receives an answer from Hermione, who is barely listening to him at all. All the colour has drained from her face, her eyes widening to the size of Tennis balls, which makes her look like a house elf, until she reaches number four on Draco's list, at which her eyes nearly pop out of her head, the entirety of which has gone fantastically red.

_**4. Hot sex. I will say no more. I need a wank now.**_

Even her ears have gone pink, which Harry thinks makes her look a bit like Ron, too.

When she finishes, she puts down the parchment, ignoring her Butterbeer and instead pouring herself some Firewhiskey, sipping it, her face scrunching up at the taste.

"You were right about one of us needing Firewhiskey." She says finally, a tinge of amusement in her voice nevertheless. Harry waits for her to continue.

"That was... interesting."

Harry still remains silent.

"How do you feel about it, Harry?" She goes on, "I mean, I see why you told me to leave Ron at home, and you're acting very maturely, not weirded out or disgusted or anything–"

"_Disgusted?_" Harry splinters, panicking. The idea of disgust hasn't popped in his mind, not once, and maybe he _should _be disgusted, that would be how Ron would react, how everyone else would react, and why wasn't Harry disgusted? What was hap–

"Harry!" Says Hermione, snapping her fingers in front of him, "I said I didn't mean– I mean, it's good that you don't feel... you know... too strange about this..."

"It is?"

How could it possibly be in any way _good _that Harry didn't feel disgusted by the prospect of Malfoy wanting to do unspeakable things to him? It didn't make any sense now that Harry was actually thinking about it...

"Yes," Hermione replies, "it's a sign of... Maturity..."

Harry looks at her, unconvinced.

"How do you feel about it?" She asks again.

"I don't know." Harry replies honestly, downing his Butterbeer in one go to avoid thinking too deeply about it.

"Well, let's put it this way," says Hermione, "why did you want to talk about it?"

"I– It's just– I've always blocked myself off from people when I run into trouble and, this isn't trouble, but... I..." Hermione waits, "I can't help thinking about it, about Malfoy, all the time. I can't get it out of my head, and I don't know what to do. And I... This was a stupid idea..."

Harry should have done what he normally does and kept it to himself. He doesn't know what possessed him to talk to Hermione about this, and he feels like an utter fool.

"Harry," she says softly, "do you like him?"

Harry's eyes nearly fall out of his head.

"Hermione! This is Malfoy!" He says, almost shouting, waving his arms for emphasis, "_Malfoy! _A _boy! _I like girls! GIRLS!"

"I just meant, do you still hate him or–"

"Of course I still hate him!" Harry lies to himself, his tone far too defensive to convince Hermione, "I mean, it's _Malfoy_–"

"I think we've established that it's Malfoy." Says Hermione, trying to bite down on a smile as she pulls a little vial out of her bag, and passes it to Harry, "Here, put a couple of drops of this in your Butterbeer."

"What is it?"

"Veritaserum."

"Veritaserum?! Where did you get it?!"

"I brewed it." She said, smiling proudly at her achievement.

"Brewed-! Why?!"

"For emergencies..."

"And this is an emergency how?"

"Well, it isn't, I just thought, it might help..."

Harry looks at her, eyebrows raised, waiting for an explanation.

"Well," she begins, blushing, "before Ron and I... well..."

"The elf-induced kiss." Harry finishes for her.

"Yes..." She goes on, looking down at the table, "Well, I couldn't work out how I felt out him, about it all, I was so confused, so I took so Veritaserum so that I could be honest with myself and...I may have talked to myself in the mirror about it..." By now she's so red that Harry wonders if she might burst into flames, "So I thought you might like to, you know... Try..."

"But Draco and I are nothing like you and Ron!" Objects Harry.

"I know!" She says quickly, "But I think you're, um..."

"..."

"Harry, is there something you're not telling me?" She stops blushing, putting on a stern tone and serious face.

"No!"

"So you still feel exactly the same towards Malfoy as you did before you found this letter?"

"Well, no..." Harry begins.

"Well then, what's changed? Other than the fact that you can't stop thinking about him?"

"I guess... I can't hate him _as _much," Harry says slowly, "seeing as I now know he's a dickhead to me because well, you know..."

"He's madly in love with you?"

"Do you have to be so blunt?" Harry snaps, annoyed and frowning.

"Whatever it is that's been bothering you so much about this whole Malfoy thing isn't going to be fixed by avoiding reality, Harry." She says strictly, picking up the little Veritaserum vial and waving it in suggestion, eyebrows raised. Harry bursts out laughing.

"I can't believe you, Hermione Granger of all people, would use Veritaserum recreationally!"

"Harry!" But Harry just keeps on laughing, finding it funnier and funnier the more he thinks about it. He's almost on the point of tears when Hermione snaps.

"Harry! What I told you about Ron and the Veritaserum was very personal–"

"I know but–" Harry giggles, still laughing wildly.

"And really, I only told you because I thought if I opened up to you about something so personal, you might feel more comfortable talking about your sexuality!"

Hermione, disbelieving what she just gave away, snaps her hand over her mouth, looking with wide eyes at Harry, who has abruptly stopped laughing.

"Sexuality?" Harry chokes.

"Harry..." Hermione's entire body tightens up. "Tell me honestly. Tell me, _just tell me, _you haven't had one thought, not one about Malfoy like _that_." She says, her meaning clear. Harry gulps.

"Okay, so maybe I have, but it's not my fault – they're not my ideas! After the letter I sort of had to think about it, didn't I?" He says, words rushed.

"Yes, but it wouldn't bother you half as much if you didn't like the idea at least a little bit." Hermione replies, her voice so firm and sure that it terrifies Harry.

"I never said that! I never said that I liked the idea of... stuff with Malfoy! I don't!" The overly defensive tone is back.

"Maybe not," Hermione goes on, fighting a smile so hard her face hurts, "but when I introduced the idea of being disgusted by the thought of Malfoy liking you, and by extension everything that comes with it, you looked at me like I'd slapped you."

"You did earlier!" Harry protests, even though there is nothing to protest against, but Hermione is ruthless today and goes on.

"The point is, Harry, it hasn't occurred to you that it might be disgusting, or strange, or anything of the kind, has it?"

Harry's mouth is open a little in his shock – how did Hermione gain insight into his mind so quickly?

"How do you do that?" He asks her.

"Do what?"

"Just _know stuff._"

"It's called being observant."

Harry frowns, rubbing his eyes in an attempt to hide his blush. Great. Now Hermione knows that Harry has thoughts about Malfoy he shouldn't have, and that he wasn't totally freaked out by them, as he technically should be.

"You're like human Veritaserum, you are." He tells her. She chuckles and puts her hand on top of Harry's.

"I can't believe I'm saying this," she says, "but however you feel towards Draco, it's okay. As long as you're happy, nothing else really matters, does it? And even Ron and I couldn't stand each other at one point too, remember?"

"Yeah, I remember, but neither of you were ever egotistical Slytherin _twats_..." Harry laughs, and Hermione smiles.

"I think we both know he's changed a lot from first year, Harry. He went through a lot, did some things I really don't think he wanted to. And then at Malfoy Manor, with the snatchers, you said so yourself, he saved us..." Her voice dropped to a whisper, "I think we both know he did that for you, Harry."

Harry's head was starting to hurt from all the thought about Draco, all the implications.

"Yeah, I suppose." He says half-heartedly.

"What are you so afraid of, Harry?"

"Afraid?" Says Harry, a frown building between his eyebrows.

"Say, _theoretically_," Hermione says attentively, "that you _do _like Malfoy in _that _way–"

"Hermione!" Replies her friend, scandalised, "How can I possibly like him in that way?! I mean, we hate each other and we haven't really said a civil word to each other, _ever_–"

"Harry," Hermione sighs, "you can't help who you're attracted to!"

"But I'm not gay! I like girls! I'm dating one!" Harry has gone a bit red, a bit out of breath, trying to prove himself.

"And you haven't spoken to her properly in weeks!" Hermione's voice was not scolding, merely one full of truth, "And people aren't split into gay or straight!"

"They're not?" Harry replies, not stopping to think about what he's saying. Hermione facepalms.

"No! As amazing as it may seem, people can like _both _boys and girls, in exactly the same way that you can like both oranges and apples! You don't have to just pick one! Honestly, Harry!"

Harry just looks at her blankly and she waves her arms around in the disbelief of having such a silly friend.

"I've just never thought about it before." He tells her. "Been too busy fighting dark lords."

They both burst out laughing, and drink some more Firewhiskey, which, despite drinking, Hermione still makes a disapproving face about.

"Well really," Hermione tells her friend, "of all the things that I thought might happen, having a conversation about the possibility of you and _Malfoy_ getting together was at the bottom of the list."

Harry chokes on his drink.

"Get... Together...?!" He manages between coughs.

"Oh Harry _please_! Stop deceiving yourself!" She says, her voice very clearly in a scolding tone.

"Twenty minutes ago I was a heterosexual male with a girlfriend – and now you're talking about getting together with _Malfoy?_

Hermione fights the urge to face plant the table and cry in desperation.

"When you think about him, you get the same look as the one which was on your face each time you saw Cho in fifth year, only more intense, and when we talked about you having _thoughts _about Malfoy, you blushed like a martyr which means they sure as hell weren't any kind of _innocent _thought, but you think all these thoughts and feelings are sheer curiosity, and you ignore them, and everything that simply can't be ignored, you'll just brush aside with 'Oh, I have a _girlfriend_', as if that'll save you from being attracted to a boy who you probably shouldn't be attracted to. And I'm sure it's just a_ coincidence _that only a couple of weeks after you found this," –she wags Draco's letter at Harry– "you get really angry at anyone even _thinking _about offending Narcissa, and you defend Draco, the boy you've hated for so many years, in the same breath without a second thought. Then you disappear with Narcissa and when we find you again, you look all deep in thought, no doubt trying to piece together the Narcissa that Draco wrote about with the Narcissa who's been so cold to you for so many years, and other things I'll probably never know about, because you'll never tell me! You'll never even tell yourself, because you're so afraid of how you feel! And _Merlin, _I'm willing to bet that isn't even half of it!"

By the time she finishes, she's stood and out of breath, towering over a gob-smacked Harry, arms crossed in her conviction.

"You got that –" Harry utters in disbelief, "– out of twenty minutes of conversation?"

Hermione nods and sits down.

"So what do I do?" He barely whispers to her.

"Talk to him, Harry."

"I did! Well, sort of. He wrote to me after I saved Narcissa at Diagon Alley. We talked for a while."

"And?" She says, her voice hopeful.

"It was nice." Harry replies, looking down at his hands and smiling a bit, allowing himself to be honest about it for just this tiny moment, "Really nice."

Hermione breathes out a breath of relief. "What did you talk about?" She asks.

"Owls, mostly." Harry chuckles.

"_Owls?_"

"Well, sort of. We just offended each other mostly. But it was still nice." Said Harry, still smiling, "But I was too curious, and I kept hinting about love, and he suddenly stopped writing. I thought it was all my fault for pushing too far, and I didn't know what to do."

"You haven't talked to him since?"

"Not exactly. Last night I was cleaning away all the letters and envelopes and–"

"Hold on!" Hermione cuts in, brown eyes wide, "Since when do you read your letters?!"

"Since this." He picked up Draco's letter. "I thought he might write to me eventually, so I began reading my letters..."

Hermione stares at him with a look that says that she absolutely cannot believe Harry has managed to convince himself he was 100% heterosexual for so long, but she says nothing, instead signalling for Harry to carry on with his story.

"...And as I was clearing the letters away, I came across a Daily Prophet from a couple of days ago, and it said that Malfoy had been injured, hexed, brought to the St. Mungo's emergency department, unconscious... But the healer has refused to help him because he's a Death Eater... Nobody knew what had happened to him after that, the article even said that it was possible he was" –Harry's voice falters– "dead. I panicked. I went up to the library and found a spe–"

"_LIBRARY?_" Hermione centres on the word as if it's sacred.

"Well it's not really a _library_–" Harry mentally slaps himself for being so careless.

"Explain." The bushy haired girl crosses her arms and waits. Harry sighs.

"Well there's a huge pile of books in the attic and–"

"You've been concealing _books _from me?!"

After that, things go downhill for Harry. He has to take Hermione to the library, show her all the books, explain which spells he's used (when he shows her the spell he used to find Draco, Hermione actually bothers to read the technicalities –"fascinating!" she calls it – and smiles mischievously, because Harry, who hasn't bothered to read the technical description, has no idea how the spell works, and so doesn't know that it's power is almost entirely based on emotion), as well as finally, at some point, Harry finishes telling Hermione about his night trip to Malfoy Manor. He tells her about the beautiful music, so carried away by just the memory, that he entirely forgets to be embarrassed or subtle about how he felt last night; tells her about Draco, bandage around his head, his sigh of Harry's name; about the music scores, the letters, moonlight and about how they lay on the piano; about carrying Draco to the bed in the other room because he couldn't bear to leave him asleep upon the cold piano keys.

By the end of her visit, Hermione is convinced that Harry is the most romantically oblivious person in the whole wide world. Ever. She notes that she needs to have a very unfortunate talk with Ginny to warn her about Harry, and that she needs to send a letter to Narcissa. The woman has never been nice to her, and if Hermione is honest, she doesn't particularly like the woman, but she has to do something for Harry's sake. Otherwise, her green-eyed friend is going to be stuck in a Draco-limbo indefinitely.

Hugging Harry goodbye and returning to the Burrow, Hermione discovers a letter lying in wait for her. Narcissa has beaten her to it.

_Dear Miss Granger,_

_I must start this letter with an apology..._

By the end of the letter, Hermione does not feel so coldly towards Mother Malfoy. In fact, she almost feels warmly toward her. Smiling, Hermione digs out a Muggle biro and some Muggle paper. Narcissa Malfoy was going to have to get used to _a lot _of new things if she wanted this to work. Hermione begins a replying letter.

_Dear Mrs Malfoy,_

_As of several hours ago, the situation between Draco and Harry has come to my knowledge, and I must say I agree with you entirely. Due to Harry's clueless disposition and Draco's stubborn nature, it would be in their best interests that we take action in order to act as a catalyst in their unexpected relationship, if it can be called that..._

Just as Hermione is finishing her letter, Ginny comes into the room, smiling brightly. Hermione feels a pang of guilt. She is essentially encouraging Harry to leave the redhead...

"Gin, can I talk to you?" She says, voice unsure.

"It's about Harry, isn't it?" Ginny replies, still smiling.

"Yes..."

"He doesn't like me as much anymore, does he?" Ginny is still smiling, shaking her head a little. "That's why he wanted to talk to you today, isn't it? We've grown apart, and he doesn't know what to do."

"You... Feel okay about it...?"

"No. Not exactly. I've spent half my life chasing him, and I'm starting to wonder if it'll _ever _work. If he'll ever work for _me_." Ginny sighs but still looks quite happy, "So what did he say? C'mon, Hermione, I'm not stupid. Tell me what's going on."

Hermione inhales deeply.

"You'd better sit down, Ginny."

"That bad?" The girl replies, eyebrows raised.

"You don't even know." Hermione mutters, before launching into an explanation of the mess that is currently Harry and Draco. Ginny takes it all in surprisingly good nature.

"Do you reckon Neville is still single?" She laughs when Hermione is finished.

"Maybe." Hermione replies, "Or maybe Draco has a nice Slytherin friend..."

Ginny's enthusiasm at the idea makes Hermione raise her eyebrows for what is only the thousandth time that day.

* * *

**A/N: Reviews to writers are like socks to Dobby. ("Reader has given Felix a review! Felix is freeeeeeeee!") But seriously guys, I love you. You all give me happy bubbly feelings that make me want to write till my brain hurts. Which, I should mention, I sometimes do... Anyway, enough babble from me, see you in the next chapter! *Skips off into the sunset* ~Felix :)  
**


	5. Vehemence

**_7am, Malfoy Manor_**

**_..._**

Narcissa Malfoy wakes up in an _exceptional _mood.

Her family are outcasts of society, on the verge of losing everything they own, her husband is out of a job, and Narcissa is now conspiring with blood traitors and muggle-borns. But none of that matters. None of that matters because finally, _finally, _after so many years, so many long, pain-filled years, her son, her one and most precious, most prized and wonderful son, might just find true happiness.

Harry Potter doesn't know it yet, but soon he will be entrapped in Draco's strange and almost irresistible pull. Narcissa has seen boys and girls come and go in their dozens, falling like delicate petals and crispy leaves in the autumn. Not as if Draco noticed, not as if Draco cared... They were never _Harry_.

And Narcissa is not going to let _Harry _slip away. If Hermione Granger, _Hermione Granger _of all people agrees that this is worth pushing for, then surely Narcissa cannot not be wrong? Surely then, Harry Potter feels something for her son.

Narcissa has hope. Just enough hope to give her the willpower to push against any and all obstacles. Obstacles like Lucius. Lucius with all his wants.

Lucius wants a son who is straight, and he damn well thinks he has one.

Lucius wants grandchildren, and he damn well thinks he's going to get them.

Lucius wants a bloodline, and he damn well won't settle for anything less.

Yes, Lucius is going to be a problem. But there is no way Narcissa is going to let something as small as what her husband _wants_ stop her son's chances at such happiness. No. Lucius is just going to have to get used to the idea of _Harry and Draco _and Narcissa is going to have to start introducing it to him as soon as possible... With the possibility so, so close now...

"Lucius..." She mumbles into her pillow softly, eyes still closed.

No answer.

"Lucy..." She says with a smile. That's usually enough to get a rise out of him. Still nothing. She reaches her hand over to where her husband should be, only finding impossibly soft Egyptian cotton.

Narcissa's eyes snap open. _What?_ Lucius never gets up earlier than she does! And it's barely daybreak!

_Something must be wrong._

Grabbing her wand and throwing on a long, silk night robe, Narcissa stalks around her home, wand at the ready. She checks on Draco first, but he's safely asleep in the spare bedroom next to the music room. He fell asleep on the piano again last night; but it was Narcissa who moved him this time.

Eventually, she finds Lucius. He's downstairs, in the drawing room, fully dressed and drinking tea.

"Lucius!" Exclaims Narcissa, "What's going on? Why are you up so early?"

Her husband jumps slightly, not expecting company, but his expression soon turns to one of joy and excitement.

"Narcissa, I have the most wonderful news!" He says, standing up and pouring his wife a cup of tea, which she takes gratefully, "We are saved!"

"We are?" Asks Narcissa gingerly. As long as the Dark Lord wasn't back, nothing could tarnish Narcissa's mood this morning.

"Yes!" Lucius responds with such enthusiasm that his eyes bulge out of his head, "I have arranged a business deal! It will allow us to keep the manor – my new business partner has influence with the Ministry. And we shall regain some of our previous status!"

"Oh really?" Narcissa eyes her husband cynically, "And what do we give?"

"Oh, we fill in suitable funds for the new enterprise and–"

"Lucius, dear, who is this new deal set with? I hope they're not unreliable–"

"Oh, no no. The deal is with the Greengrasses, and they would not forsake us, our families have been close for generations – and will be for many generations more..."

Lucius hesitates and Narcissa raises her eyebrows, which serves as a warning.

"Lucius, what are you not telling me?"

"Well... It's a very big deal... And, we needed something to _seal _it..."

"Lucius, what have you done?" Lucius twitches slightly under the glare of his wife.

"You may want to sit dow–"

"I will stand."

"Well, as you know, the Greengrasses have two daughters... Lovely, pure-blood girls... Very respectable..."

"Yes. One of them was in the same year as Draco. Engaged now, isn't she?"

"Indeed, indeed! But her younger sister, Astoria–"

"Is sixteen." Narcissa hisses through gritted teeth.

"Yes, yes, but she turns of age in early September... Quite taken with Draco, she is..."

"Lucius..." Narcissa's voice burns with warning. Lucius swallows hard and straightens himself out.

"Astoria's parents have agreed to marry her to our son after she turns seventeen as a sealant of our deal. We have set a wedding date."

For a split moment, there is a hallowed and deathly silence, like the empty hollows of outer space, and then–

_Crash._

The delicate teacup that last knew itself whole in Narcissa's hand smashes to a million pieces against the hard marble floor, an Earl Gray infusion running away from the impact like tears, bone china like the hopes and dreams of a forlorn mother.

* * *

**_7:05 am, Grimmauld Place_**

**_..._**

Harry doesn't know if he should moan or blush, or perhaps both – all he knows is that the flow of beautiful white blonde hair trailing after the murderously soft kisses being left all over Harry's naked stomach and sides is unmistakable.

One of Draco's hands holds onto Harry's ribs so gently that the boy with green eyes needs to gasp for cool morning air; the other hand is holding Harry's own, fingers twining in a way that makes Harry feel secure, like he's sheltered and yet oh so vulnerable...

The kisses continue as if no part of Harry is safe: not his body, not his mind, because Draco's lips are seeping through both and–

Suddenly, Draco looks up. Grey eyes, silvering into Harry's with such intensity that it almost burns, not smirking but _loving_, so gentle and kind – happy, even...

Draco moves forward, and Harry leans toward him, until he can feel Malfoy's warm breath on his lips and...

Harry wakes up. He moans at himself, although he doesn't know if that's because he had another one of _those _dreams again, or because he always wakes up before their lips touch. It's starting to get a bit much for Harry's psyche, his ebbing curiosity: just once, just once, even in his dreams, if he could kiss the other boy, just to _know..._

Harry slaps his own cheek. Why was he thinking about that? Soon he'll be believing Hermione and her strange Malfoy lectures.

After Hermione left last night, it was a whole three minutes before Harry convinced himself that it was all a very bad, alcohol-induced mistake, and that he's very straight and totally not attracted to Malfoy in any way, shape or form. Harry then decided not to think about Draco anymore. Told himself he'd do something useful instead. See Ginny or something.

It was a further two minutes before Harry found some parchment and began writing a letter to Malfoy.

_**Draco,**_

_**I heard you got hexed. Are you okay? Alive and that? What that healer did was wrong. I hope you're alright. Gave me quite a fright, you know. Not sure what I'd do if you ended it.**_

_**-Harry. **_

After sending it, Harry had a panic attack. The letter was too sweet, too caring, too much ramble, giving too much away, just _too _much... Harry had fallen asleep on the sofa waiting for Draco's reply, mind drifting over Hermione's all too sure words from just a few hours before.

* * *

**_7:10 am, The Burrow_**

**_..._**

Hermione Granger has been up a whole hour. The first half of it was spent panicking – what on earth was she doing, trying to convince _Harry Potter _that he might want to be with _Draco Malfoy_? It sounded like totally insanity to her internal ears. She had eventually mentally slapped herself, convincing her mind that sometimes love can be found in the most unlikely of places, between the most unlikely of people, and Hermione felt better. And honestly, the way Harry looks when he thinks about Draco... Hermione still finds it strange, so unexpected, but if Narcissa, _Narcissa Malfoy _of all people, had agreed, had written to her, a _muggle-born_... well, it had to be worth something, didn't it?

Maybe, just maybe, this is the one Harry needs.

Hermione has spent the other half an hour planning. Plotting. Thinking. How could she possibly get Harry and Draco to spent time together? And in a way that wasn't suspicious? And in a way that was _safe _for both of them?

She's half way through developing a brilliant but as yet only half-formed idea when an owl with the _Daily Prophet _turns up. She pays the little owl, but soon whatever fantastic idea is in her mind is blown away by the front line of the newspaper she's holding.

Either there's been an absolutely _colossal _mistake, or Hermione's _Harry/Draco_ problems are about to get much, much worse.

* * *

**_7:15 am, Malfoy Manor_**

**_..._**

Draco wakes up to several muffled BANG!s. He automatically grabs his wand, unsurprised to find himself in a bed again (his mother moves him when he falls asleep on his piano, which, to be honest, is most nights), and makes his way around the house. He finds the source of the bangs in the large drawing room downstairs, where Draco's father appears to be protecting himself with a magical force field, a translucent lilac veil whose source is at his wand, while Narcissa throws priceless china at him.

"Narcissa, please, let's just be reasonable –" Lucius pleads; obviously losing whatever fight had formed.

"NO! How _could _you?! You bastard! You total and _utter_" – Another saucer bounces off the force field and smashes off the floor, joining the seemingly endless clutter of former dinner utensils that are already covering every inch of the room –"BASTARD! I'm going to kill you, Lucius Malfoy! I'm actually going to physically strangle you with my own hands-!"

A knife flies towards the veil, bouncing off it and embedding itself in a wall.

"Blimey, mum," says Draco, ducking a wayward spoon that would have otherwise soundly lodged itself three inches deep into his head, "for the first time I can be sure you're related to Aunt Bella through and through."

"Ah, Draco..." She replies, hurling several forks with deathly precision at the force field, "Go back to bed while I MURDER your father, will you, sweetheart?"

"What did you do wrong, dad? And what happened to mum's wand?" Draco laughs, watching as more cups and cutlery impact against the walls.

"It was the first thing she threw at me!" Lucius replies, somewhat fearfully, adding in a mutter: "Luckily."

"I CAN INJURE YOU SIGNIFICANTLY EVEN WITHOUT IT, LUCIUS ABRAXAS MALFOY!" Screams Narcissa.

"Merlin's pants, mum! Did he mistake your Italian roses for weeds again or something?"

"No!" Yells Lucius, stepping back as Narcissa advances and chucks a glass vase at him, "We agreed I would never help your mother de-weed the garden again, remember?"

"Yeah," says Draco quietly, "apparently not even gardening was a safe couple-bonding activity... But seriously mother," he says, louder now, "what's he done?"

"You don't need to know, darling." Narcissa stops her onslaught temporarily to smile reassuringly at her son, "Why don't you go back to bed and I'll wake you when breakfast is done?"

"Actually," Lucius peps in, "why don't we just tell him now–"

An enchanted wine glass hurls towards him, blowing up in a puff of pink smoke on impact with his shield.

"No!" Screams a voice after the glass, "_because it will never happen!_"

"But Narcissa, dear, we were just seventeen when–"

"I don't care!"

"MOTHER! FATHER!" Screeches Draco, and both of his parents come to an abrupt halt. "_What in Merlin's name going on?_"

"Your mother and I..." Breathes Lucius, grateful for the interruption, "Are having a... dispute due to difference in opinion, shall we say."

"Over what?" Says Draco.

"Your father," snorts Mother Malfoy darkly, "seems to think that forcing you into an arranged marriage at just eighteen in order to seal a business deal is a perfectly acceptable act as a parent!"

"But isn't that what happened to you?" Asks her son, barely surprised at the news of an arranged marriage. He was expected one to land on his lap at some point in his life. Why not now?

"We actually liked one another! And those where old times, desperate times..."

"And these aren't?!" Exclaims Lucius, "This bond will help us keep our house, all our belongings, maybe even regain our status..."

"Who am I marrying?" Asks Draco, crossing his arms and leaning against the doorframe.

"Astoria Greengrass." Replies his father, almost nervously.

"Isn't she sixtee–"

"Turns of age in three months."

Draco thinks for a moment.

"She's not that bad." He resolves.

"Draco!" Says his mother, scandalised, "Wouldn't you rather marry someone you loved?"

Her eyes scream _Harry! _and Draco's reply with: _will never be mine!_

"I could be waiting for love forever, mother. And we need this, we need it now more than ever. We are in danger of losing everything we own–"

"_Material possessions are nothing next to love._" She whispers into the void between them.

"_And I love both of you._" He replies. "I want you to be safe, to be okay, to live in comfort and happiness. I'm sure a marriage to Astoria Greengrass will be... fine, mum."

Draco smiles gently and Narcissa bursts into tears.

"It's the best chance we've got, isn't it, dad?"

"By far, Draco, by far."

Draco nods solemnly. Narcissa only cries harder and Lucius puts his arms around her; she hits him in the chest with her fists, but without much force, and soon surrenders to sobbing into her husband's shoulder.

Narcissa knows that this is it. Draco has agreed to marry Astoria, and nothing will convince him otherwise, because Draco truly believes this is for the best for his family. And it's not as if he would _ever _believe Narcissa if she tells him that she truly believes there is hope for him and Harry. Draco would just sigh at what he'd think was a mother's desperate attempts to save her son because she's not ready to let him go just yet. Too young for something so big.

"I can't believe you're doing this to our son again," sobs Narcissa, head not leaving Lucius' shoulder, "forcing him into something for your own damn good!"

"This isn't the same as taking the dark mark, mum!" Laughs Draco, "I hope it'll be at least a tad more pleasant..."

"But I wanted you to marry somebody you loved..." Says his mother.

"I'm sure I'll come to love her over time." Replies Draco quietly. "We'll have children, a bloodline. You'll have security. You'll be _safe_."

To this Narcissa looks up at Draco and his bandaged head, which only makes her wail harder. Draco sighs. His mother has spent most of the last few days crying: her son being hexed was bad enough, being refused for treatment took it's toll, but it was only when the healer, who had been called from France, told Draco's parents that the seventeen year old had, essentially, lost his left eye, that Narcissa lost all control. Being told that he'd have to wear an eye patch for the rest of his life was not the hardest thing for Draco; it was having to listen to his mother cry uncontrollably for almost four hours.

Draco thinks he might even like the eye patch. It'll match the ugly dark mark on his arm, and when he grows old and cranky, kids will be scared of him, call him one-eye-Malfoy, one of the men who tried to take over the world. Draco feels that he deserves nothing less but fear and loathing for the rest of his life.

"When are we making the engagement announcement, father?"

Lucius slowly detaches himself from his wife, walking over to a beautiful coffee table, handing Draco the _Daily Prophet_ on it.

_**YOUNGEST MALFOY ALIVE – AND ENGAGED**_

"Wow, dad," begins Draco, "when mum sees this she's going to –"

But Narcissa has already glimpsed the front line, and Lucius doesn't manage to raise his wand before a gold-plated Japanese teacup collides with his head.

Draco laughs as the previous onslaught continues, watching his parents chase each other around the room.

"But Narcissa! I had no choice, please understand! No, no, please don't throw that – okay, okay, throw it if you like but – please, dear! It was a now or nothing thing –!"

Draco follows the hunt with great amusement across the house, (not least because it takes his mind off the fact that he'll be married in a few short months – to a GIRL), watching as his mother smashs nearly everything in their house, (this break-all-the-breakable-objects affair has happened so many times in Malfoy history that it's almost tradition), as his father desperately tries to explain himself, and by lunchtime, the Malfoys have nothing to eat or drink from.

* * *

Somewhere far away in London, Harry Potter happily takes a shower, mindlessly counting the numbers of Draco's letter which he rescued from under the bed all those weeks ago, totally oblivious to the fact that by the laws of engagement, Draco Malfoy now belongs to someone else entirely.

* * *

**A/N: I understand some of you might feel weird about the strange events at the Malfoy Manor, but we never got to know the Malfoys as a family and how they interact when nobody is looking, so this is my version of the Malfoys :D As always, thank you so much for reading, and thank you for all your follows and favourites, all your wonderful, warm, helpful, encouraging reviews. I love you as much as Draco loves Harry... but perhaps just a tad less sexually. Just a tad. ~Felix.**


	6. Covetousness

**A/N: Thank you for sticking with me my darlings, you are the ones I write for.**

* * *

Lying in bed, face buried in the soft mountains of a pillow, Harry finds himself once again aimlessly reflecting on how amazing a turn it is, that one simple revelation can change your entire opinion of a person. Harry knows better than anybody else. Sometimes, at some hours of the morning and night, he has trouble wrapping his head around it. When did so much hate just disperse into the wind? Like Dandelion seeds, something that will come again in the spring.

Sometimes, Harry finds his spring again, his hate. Hate that looks like anger, tastes like _panic_, that sounds like hopelessness, smells like fear, and feels exactly like the inside of a Dementor's soul.

_**Potter,**_

_**That is none of your business.**_

_**-D.M.**_

That was all that Harry has received in response to his heartfelt and worry-filled letter about Draco half way dying after being blasted with a curse. That was all. _None of Harry's business._

Harry's fist clutches his bed sheets in his renewed anger with such force that it's a wonder they don't rip. He's still amazed he didn't smash everything that he owned the night he got the letter. He had felt so much _hate._ Hate to the point of tears, to the point of screaming. It had been _unbearable_. The only reason Harry hasn't yet destroyed the letter, burnt it to ashes, is that he needs it to believe, to believe that the other man could be so cold. And then Harry remembers.

Harry hates Draco Malfoy.

He's hated him since first year. His arrogance, wicked smile and evil smirk. What was he thinking? Trying to be _nice _to Malfoy. He almost cared. When Harry remembers his recent actions, he feels like such a god damn _fool_, and he runs his hands through his hair, blushes like a Weasley, and tries to forget again. Forget that nagging, vibrating feeling that means he cares; forget that burn of embarrassment that comes with it.

It's unnatural to feel embarrassed about caring about someone, so the feeling of care, too, must be unnatural – right?

"Right." Harry tells himself.

And then he calls Hermione on his new mobile phone which she's bought him (they are much quicker than owls, and she bought them owing to the fact the trio's owls are usually occupied most of the time these days), asks her how she is, asks to speak to Ginny. And on each of the five times that Harry's talked to Ginny on Hermione's phone, on each of the five days since Draco's stupid letter, Ginny has mumbled and coughed and made excuses and got off the phone as quickly as possible. Suspicious, but Harry can't bring himself to care.

"Oh, okay, have fun will Bill then," Harry tells her, "bye!"

And then Harry puts down the phone as quickly as possible so he doesn't have to endure Hermione's inevitable questions about Draco, turning it off so that he doesn't have to pick up when she calls him back.

He owls Ron a lot, because he knows Hermione isn't stupid enough to get Ron involved.

Harry sighs into his bed again, sweeping the Draco issue out of his mind, engaging in the revolutionary and bouncy feeling of relief that comes with thinking about other things, about what he'll do with his day, about chores and refurbishing the house... Until he remembers what day it is. June the fifth.

Draco's birthday.

_Don't care don't care don't care don't care_ Harry mutters to himself.

Pointless.

Evtually, he stumbles out of bed in defeat; intent on having a _very_ cold shower, and weighting up the pros and cons of putting Firewiskey in his cornflakes so early in the morning.

* * *

"Harry, come open the door." She says. "I'm standing right outside your house."

"Why?" He answers.

"Just do."

She sounds serious. Harry lethargically rolls off the sofa and onto the floor, narrowly missing an empty bottle of Firewhiskey, putting the phone to his ear once more when he finds it too much effort to move again.

"Miiiiione."

"What?" Hermione's voice snaps.

"Can't move."

"Why?"

"There's glue on the floor."

"Glue?!"

"Yeah. I think it's called gravitin..."

"Gravity?"

"Yeah, that's the one!"

There's a pause.

"Harry, let me in."

Harry is forced to remove himself off his suddenly very comfortable spot on the cold, dusty floor and open the door for Hermione (who, apart from Harry, is still the only person who is able to find the house – Harry's spell is still on it) as she looks unimpressed by Harry's moronic smile.

"You're drunk! It's three o'clock in the afternoon!" She exclaims at the sight of him.

"Your powers of observation never dwindle."

Hermione lectures him for a while, while Harry ignores her for a while.

"You're still thinking about Draco, aren't you?" She says suddenly, making Harry's attention snap back to her.

"Today's his birthday." Groans Harry.

"You should just go see him some time."

Harry's drunk mind goes _ping_ along with an ecstatically bright light bulb.

"I need to pee." He tells his friend.

"Wonderful." She replies, and Harry legs it up the stairs with a drunk stumble or two, way past the toilet, and skidding by his room, he realises that if he's going to do stupid things, he might as well grab his invisibility cloak as an extra precaution. Harry grabs it, and congratulates himself on his ability to make tactical decisions even while he's pissed off his face.

By this time, Hermione's suspicious. She's been counting his footsteps.

"Harry," she yells up the stairs, "the toilet isn't on that floor!"

"I know!" Harry yells back as he climbs higher.

"Harry..."

And Harry legs it up more flights as Hermione begins on the bottom stairs.

"Harry!" She screams after him, "What do you think you're doing?!"

"Taking your advice!" He yells back.

"I didn't mean go see him _now_ you – you..."

Hermione is out of breath, legging her way up several flights of steep steps, but Harry is quicker, his veins pulsing in adrenaline sparked by the chase. He bursts into Regulus' room and grabs the stone, instantly finding himself in the library. He sets the stone down where it always lies, waiting for a return touch, and begins to riffle through the books.

"Harry!" Hermione yells from below as she arrives in Regulus's room, her voice muffled through the ceiling, "Harry, come down!"

Harry can hear her searching through the room, looking for a stone, but there's only one and its sat on a pile of books next to him. Harry smirks.

"Nah! I'm going to give our old friend Draco a visit."

"Harry Potter! Come down right now! You can't go! You're drunk!"

"So?" He yells back.

"So you can't and you won't go!"

"I think you'll find I can and I will!" He laughs back. Alcohol makes Harry bold. "Hey, Hermione, do you remember what book I used to find Draco last time? I remember the page number but not the book..."

"It was call– wait, no! Harry! Come down! This is stupid!"

_This is great! _screams Harry's excitement.

"Found it!" Harry informs her through the ceiling, stumbling across the book he was looking for.

"Harry! No!"

Harry almost feels guilty; Hermione sounds somewhat distressed, as much as one can sound distressed through a thick layer of ceiling plaster and floor. Harry opens the book, checks the spell once over, smiles, and throws the invisibility cloak over himself. Below, Hermione bites her lip. She can't tell Harry. But she has to. If she doesn't, he'll ruin the entire plan. He'll ruin the last chance.

"Harry!" She pleads desperately, "Please don't go! You don't understand! Narcissa Malfoy and I... we have a plan! To get you to talk to Draco! Harry, you mustn't go! Don't you hear me? Harry! Please!"

But Harry's long gone. He's in Wiltshire now, not a word of Hermione's afflictions in his ears, stood in the sunshine of a superbly preened garden; grass as green as you can get it; roses in full bloom; trees like something in a painting; and Draco Malfoy, head lifted half way to the skies, a black eye patch over his left eye, whistling to a birdie in a tree, a birdie who replies to the blonde in sweet sonnets, a blonde barefoot, in impeccably neat robe trousers and a white button up shirt, with none of the buttons done up.

Draco whistles to the little birdie, and it whistles back the same tune, and Draco looks ecstatic.

Harry realises he's never seen Draco truly smile before. Never.

"Honestly Draco, if you talked to human beings with the civility you talk to birds then I swear we'd have half of our problems solved. Do your shirt up." Narcissa Malfoy's voice comes as she walks along the lawn towards her son, a silky black robe tie hanging limply from her hands.

"How unfortunate it happens to be then, that most people are dickheads." Says Draco, fingers binding the two sides of his shirt together. Harry can't help staring at the pale and smooth expanse of vanishing skin.

"Draco!"

"Sorry, mum." He smirks at his mum and she smiles back, thrusting a tie at him and watching as he tries to navigate the art of tie-tying.

"I can't believe you're not dressed yet." Narcissa says with a sigh, reaching to correct Draco's failed attempts to turn his tie into the masterpiece his mother wants it to be, "They'll be here soon."

Draco makes a disgruntled noise as Mother Malfoy finishes off correcting his collar.

"And Draco..." There's a hesitation. "What do you want to do with Harry's letters?"

"Burn them."

There's a sharp intake of breath for both Harry and Narcissa.

"Draco..."

"I don't want a single shred of evidence that he ever existed in this house. I want it to be like he was never born. My heart belongs to someone else now; I intend to give it to them valiantly and with the required devotion."

His words stain Harry. Draco has fallen in love with someone else.

Why should Harry care, then? Why does Harry feel so angry, then?

Why does Harry feel like he's lost in his own body, then?

"You're a good man, Draco." Narcissa says quietly, looking only at the floor. "Please be ready for when our guests arrive."

She slinks away toward the house. Draco scowls and whistles to the bird again, but with much less enthusiasm. The bird flies away.

The sun is still shining just as brightly, as warmly, but Harry feels overcast. Like a ghost. And really, that's all he is now to Draco – to everyone. Just _the boy who lived,_ the shadow of a legend, something untouchable, something unfindable, something that doesn't belong in real life.

He's like a Horcrux of himself, hidden in his own body. Trapped by his own will, but with no other choice.

Narcissa's voice sounds across the lawn once more. "Draco, Draco dear... I can't do it. I can't burn Harry's letters. You'll have to do it yourself."

Draco shudders. Harry thinks he hears a hopeful tinge in her voice, but he concludes it must be a trick of the ears.

"Fine by me." Says Draco with conviction as he heads for the mansion.

That does it. Harry's anger boils up like the sun above the garden. He'll show him. He'll show Draco. He'll show him how to _forget _Harry Potter.

Harry straightens himself out under his invisibility cloak, casting a spell to make him smell springy fresh (a useful thing to learn if you're going camping for months on end with limited showering facilities) and begins to navigate around the lawn, walking around the house to what he hopes is the front end.

Harry eventually finds the front door, and quickly takes off his invisibility cloak, folding it and shoving it the best he can down the back pocket of his jeans. He probably looks like a moron, but Harry could care less.

He composes himself and knocks courtly on the door.

Narcissa answers it.

Her face goes from a brightly plastered smile, to confusion, and then something which, to Harry, looks oddly like a genuine smile.

"Har – Mr. Potter." She says, softly, "How pleasant to see you..."

"Mrs. Malfoy!" Harry beams at her, "How are you? You look beautiful, may I add! And please, call me Harry!"

Narcissa looks entirely taken aback, and really, Harry is taken aback by his own words for a moment, before he remembers he's pleasantly plastered.

"Thank you... Come in... Call me Narcissa..." She manages, ushering Harry inside, eying him gingerly.

"Oh, I hope I'm not intruding..." Harry begins.

"No, no, not at all... I'm sure Draco will be most... pleased... to see you..." Harry smiles at her ever brighter. It was going to be like being back in second year and snatching the snitch straight from under Draco's nose. He's never seen Narcissa Malfoy stumble for words before. For a moment, Harry's concentration, his perky drunk happiness, lapses. For a moment, he remembers the forest again, Narcissa's almost silent, terrified voice filling his mind: _"Draco? Is he alive?"_

A memory like a cold creeping on his skin. When Harry clicks back to real life, he realises he's stopped smiling. Somehow, Narcissa seems to understand. She places a soft hand against his cheek, and Harry realises that when he died and came back to life, and hers was the first voice that spoke to him in his second life. The voice that saved him. Harry smiles again.

Suddenly, there's a skidding noise in the other room, like someone in a rush on polished floors, and Narcissa chuckles.

"Don't worry, Draco, it's not them!" she calls, "But you do have another visitor, an unexpected one."

Narcissa finally takes her hand from Harry's cheek, leading him into a beautiful and immaculate drawing room, where Draco is frantically trying to sort out his top robes. He stops and looks up at them, and then recoils.

It isn't like snatching the snitch from under Draco's nose. It's like throwing a _Sectumsempra_ at him and watching him bleed again. Draco looks like he's walked into his own personal nightmare, and really, Draco feels like he truly has.

For a moment, there's silence, a horrid and thin silence that hangs over them, and then Draco scowls.

"Potter. What the hell are you doing here?"

Familiarity. Relief floods Harry.

"Potter?!" This exclaim comes from behind Harry, from Lucius, and Harry spins around.

"Er..." he manages.

"I wasn't expecting to see you here." The older Malfoy says, looking shell-shocked.

Narcissa coughs. "I'll go make tea, shall I?" She says.

She slithers away and a moment later, just as Lucius opens his mouth again, there's an enormous _clang _from another room, which Harry can only assume is the sound of something smashing against the floor.

"Oh no!" Narcissa's voice carries from the other room, "I dropped a teacup! Lucius, come and help me clean this up!"

Lucius sighs in frustration but obeys. Harry has no choice but to turn back to Draco, who looks murderous.

"Potter!" He hisses, "What are you doing here?! Are you insane?! What is this? A practical joke? I swear to Merlin I'm going to–"

"Draco," Harry smirks, "_chill._"

Draco gapes. He can't believe Harry Potter just told him to _chill_.

"Potter, are you drunk?" Says Malfoy, exasperated, "Oh Merlin, you are, aren't you?"

"No," Harry lies, "I just wanted to wish you happy birthday. And check on your... er..."

Harry's eyes settle on Draco's eye patch.

"I'm fine." The Malfoy dismisses it with the flick of an aristocratic wrist.

"And the... er...?" Harry's eyes are still fixed on the black material that lies where Draco's left eye should be.

"It's fine, Potter. Picking things up can be annoying though, my depth perception is screwed, but at least you're not the only visually impaired one now."

Harry opens his mouth to object to Draco's half-hearted acceptance of having an eye cursed off his face, but then comes another knock at the front door and the whole house freezes.

Neither Harry nor Draco move as the two older Malfoys answer the door; there's a loud commotion of formal greetings in the hallway.

"Who are they?" Harry mouths to Draco.

"The Greengrasses. Our _guests_." He hisses back.

The new arrivals, a man, a woman and two girls, one who Harry recognises as Daphne Greengrass, are brought into the drawing room, and at once the woman, who reminds Harry strangely of The Fat Lady who guards Gryffindor tower, recognises Harry.

"You're Harry Potter!" She exclaims.

"Well–"

"Oh, Mr. Potter! I had no idea you and Draco were friends!" She carries on, eyes nearly popping out of her head as she examines Harry in the same way Ron might examine a large chocolate cake.

"Er, yeah, well..."

"I assume you will be staying with us for dinner?"

The woman looks at Narcissa, who in turn smiles at Harry.

"Yes," she says, "won't you stay, Harry?"

Harry risks a sideways glance at Draco. Draco looks like he's one step away from murdering Harry, that one step being accepting the dinner invitation.

"Sure," Harry grins, "sounds great!"

"Wonderful! And I assume," Mrs. Greengrass bustles cheerfully on, "you know my daughters, Daphne and Astoria?"

"Daphne, I've had the pleasure to meet, Astoria unfortunately not so..."

"Oh well _Astoria_ is our gem..."

Harry stops listening to what is a long and uninteresting lecture on how wonderful _Astoria _is. The woman makes the girl, who looks at least nineteen and straight out of the pages of a magazine, shake hands with Harry, who has noticed that she spends most of her time eyeing Draco gleefully, which sends spikes that feel strangely like jealously through Harry (they can't be, of course, that would be _ludicrous_) and even more frustratingly, Draco smiles back. Is this his new love interest, the reason he'd burn Harry's letters?

"...And of course, she receives top marks!" The girl's mother was gloating, "Only one more year to go at Hogwarts" – blimey, thinks Harry, she must be only sixteen – "but of course, she turns of age in three months, which means, of course, she'll be able to marry, and that's why we didn't bother to wait with the elopement."

"Mmmmmmmmmm," Harry says, smiling, because he has absolutely no idea what she's on about.

"We're all" Daphne suddenly says, "_very_ happy for Astoria and Draco, I'm sure you've already congratulated him on their engagement–"

"_Engagement?!_"

It feels like someone's punched Harry in the gut.

"Yes. We'll be wed in September."

The voice was Draco's and it wasn't warm in the slightest. He walks over to Astoria, snaking a long arm around her waist and throwing her a dazzling smile. She looks ready to faint, and Harry gets that frustrating feeling again that is definitely _not _jealousy.

Small talk is made and eventually, an excited looking house elf in a pleated dress comes in and informs them that dinner is ready to be served.

Lucius and Narcissa go first, explaining the menu to the Greengrasses, and as they shuffle off towards a dining room, Harry takes the opportunity to grab Malfoy's wrist and pull him aside.

"You're engaged?!" He asks, because he simply can't believe it and needs to hear it again.

"Yes!" Draco hisses, scowling.

"_To be married?_"

"What the hell, Potter? What's wrong with you?"

Harry can list many things.

"Nevermind." Harry snaps and sidesteps Draco before the other boy can reply, catching up to the rest of the coalition.

The dining room is just as beautiful as the last room; obviously recently redecorated: all bright and white and gold and airy. Harry could take a few tips from this place for when he redecorates Grimmauld Place – that house is a mess and now Harry finally has time to fix it up. It's no longer the headquarters for the order of the Pheonix: it's Harry's _home_ now.

They are sat at a large round table set for eight: Harry is sat next to Draco and Daphne, and Astoria elegantly lowers herself down on a the chair on Draco's other side, which he has pulled out for her.

"Thank you, dear!" She swelters, much to Harry's distaste, although he couldn't tell you why it makes him feel so weird.

A plate is set in front of Harry by the seemingly overjoyed house elf.

"Thank you." Says Harry, forgetting he's in the presence of purebloods, who stare at him wide eyed. But he's Harry Potter, the saviour of all things cute and weak, so it's quickly accepted, except by one person: Draco, who is glaring at him with distinct anger. Harry leans over to him, muttering so only the blonde could hear: "Clutch that glass a little harder, _dear_, you never know; you might just be able to break it."

Narcissa watches them from across the table with great trepidation. Great. She's now officially hosting dinner to what is quickly escalating into the most screwed up love triangle of the modern century. Harry Potter, a Death Eater and an anorexic sixteen year old. Outstanding.

The starter course lasts a good quarter hour. Harry spends the entirety of it staring at his plate, eating very little, instead favouring to swirl his food around, with no idea what he's actually eating because he's lost the ability to register anything but the fact that _Draco Malfoy is now engaged_.

Just as the house elf is bringing more wine, there's another loud knock on the front door.

"Are we expecting more guests?" Asks Mrs. Greengrass gleefully.

"No, no..." Says Narcissa, "Probably just the gardener..."

She excuses herself from the table in order to go answer the knock. Harry hears hushed voices in the hall, and his spine snaps straight. He'd recognise that voice anywhere: that's Hermione's voice.

"Excuse me." He says to the rest of the table, rising as Draco eyes him curiously.

"Mione!" Harry says as soon as he sees her, "what are you doing here?!"

"I was worried about you!" She says in an angry whisper. Narcissa has an gentle hand on Hermione's shoulder, which Harry finds very strange. The last time he checked, the two wouldn't touch each other with a nine foot barge pole.

"I'm sorry Hermione, I... er..." How was Harry going to explain barging in and spontaneously having dinner with the Malfoys?

"We're having dinner Hermione, and Harry joined us." Explains Narcissa to Harry's relief. "We've already had the starter but if you'd like to–"

"Oh, no no, I couldn't possibly–"

"It wouldn't be a bother–"

"I really have to be going anyway–"

"I'll come with you!" Bursts Harry. Gate crashing Draco's birthday had been nowhere near as fun as he'd expected. In fact, Harry felt positively shit. "I feel really quite ill. But thank you for the dinner Mrs. Malfoy, it was delicious."

"Oh, okay." Narcissa smiles: she seems to understand that Harry no longer feels comfortable, "Won't you say goodbye to Draco and the rest of the party?"

"Oh yes, of course!"

Harry follows Narcissa back to the dining room, casting a long look back to Hermione as he walks, and says goodbye to everyone, explaining that something had come up.

"Happy birthday, Draco," he says to the boy at last, "and er – congratulations on your engagement."

"Thanks!" The high pitched _thanks_ comes from Astoria, who is smiling brightly at Harry. "We're very happy together!"

She leans forward and gives Draco a quick peck on the lips which he doesn't expect, and Mrs. Greengrass looks as if she is ready to die of pride.

There are very few thing for certain in Harry's life, but right now, one thing is for sure_:_ Harry Potter hates Astoria Greengrass with the fire of a thousand suns.

He nods to everyone as a last goodbye and shuffles back into the hallway, where Hermione takes his hand, pulling him away. They walk in silence out of the front door, through the gates and well down the path that leads away from the house. Eventually, after what must have been at least an hour of walking, Hermione finally stops.

"Harry..." Her face is full of sympathy and concern, which Harry doesn't need.

"I'm sorry." He tells her. "Go back to the Burrow. I'll come down tomorrow, it's about time I spent some time with you lot."

He smiles at her, but Hermione just looks pleading and sad.

"Harry–"

"He's in love with someone else." Harry whispers, "Astoria Greengrass. She's beautiful and pureblood and exactly what he needs." Harry can feel his own tone cracking now, eyes full of a strange watery burn: "Good for him. I'll see you tomorrow. Goodbye. _Redire._"

With the spell word for his return, he whips away from Hermione's sight, leaving her alone in the countryside, in despair for her best friend. She disapperates to the Burrow, soon finding herself in the warmth of cosy, red fires and Molly Weasley's cooking.

Far away in London, Harry finds himself in the cold and stale air of his library. His throat closes up as he fights tears; he falls to his knees and curls up in a ball on the floor, a thick fortress of books between him and the world outside. They watch him as the tears flow, as Harry puts the tip of his thumb in his mouth like a child, as he chokes and splutters in his otherwise silent sobs.

And the books remember. They remember another dark haired boy, alone and weeping on that floor: all hope and hopelessness, and trying to find the right thing to do. Yes, the books remember, and they sing a lullaby to Harry with their shadows as he falls asleep on that cold library floor.

* * *

**A/N: This train is moving forward! :) I hoped you liked this chapter as much as the last. Leave me a little comment: I'll be as happy as Draco when the birdie sings back :) Love you all, see you soon, ~Felix **


	7. Realisation

**A/N: Oh my Drarry heart, 10,000 views! Thank you so very much! And thank you for all your lovely reviews on the last chapter – I got so crazily excited that I wrote this next chapter straight after publishing the previous one! And since I love you all ever so much, here it is! :) Don't forget to leave me a comment about my progress afterwards! :D You know you want to ;) Love, Draco's Felix :3**

* * *

Morning dawns, and Harry doesn't waste time. Enough of this stupidity! He gets up, showers at the speed of sound, throws a bunch of clothes in a bag, grabs his broom and goes. He apparates to the Burrow (thank Merlin he has his license now, although there isn't much Harry Potter couldn't get away with these days anyway).

"Harry!" Exclaims Mrs Weasley when she opens the door, "You're here!"

"Yes, didn't Hermione tell you I was coming?" Harry says, making his way in.

"She said you might turn up... Says you've been feeling a bit funny, dear..."

"Oh, I'm fine now!" Harry beams at her. Ginny appears in the doorway of the kitchen, looking shocked and almost confused; is she not happy to see him? Harry ignores the thought and instead throws his arms around her and gives her an enthusiastic kiss.

Something feels off.

"What's wrong, Ginny?" Harry says as he pulls back.

"Nothing..." She breathes, "I'm just... Surprised."

She gives him a half-hearted smile and twirls herself out of Harry's grasp. What? This wasn't the usual Ginny. The usual Ginny was all happy and bright to see Harry. All kisses and jokes. It was a pattern they had and Harry took comfort in its familiarity.

The very familiarity Harry had come to the Burrow for today. He thought it'd help him forget all his strange thoughts about Draco, but now Ginny has broken the pattern. Broken the magic.

"Ginny, what the hell?" He says, frowning and following her as she walks away. Mrs Weasley disappears into another room discreetly.

"What?"

"Why are you acting so weird?"

"Nothing, Harry! I just feel a little... strange... this morning. Why are _you_ acting so weird?"

Harry opens his mouth to engage in an argument that can only go in circles, but luckily, at that precise moment, Hermione bursts into the room.

"Harry!" She squeaks, "You're here!"

"Again with those powers of observation."

"What's got _you_ in such a bad mood?"

"I'm not in a bad mood! Everyone else is just acting weird!"

"Harry!" This voicing of Harry's name comes from a male throat: and Ron looks much happier to see Harry than everybody else. "I haven't seen you in ages mate!"

Harry grins back at his friend.

"You alright, Ron?"

"Yeah, I'm good. Yourself?"

"I'm fine." Says Harry merrily.

"You look kinda pale, though, Harry." Says Ron with a wince.

"Not enough sunlight, been stuck in the house all day." Says Harry, determined not to have anyone else adopt a worried expression, "In fact, fancy a fly? I brought my Firebolt."

"Sure! Let me just grab my broom..."

Ron runs out the room and up the stairs, and Harry turns back to Ginny.

"Fancy coming with us, Gin?" He says, knowing her love of flying.

"Nah," She says to Harry's bewilderment, "don't feel like it. I'll just stay in and keep Hermione company."

"But Hermione has books to keep her company!"

"I like humans too!" Hermione snaps at him.

Ron comes back and Harry leaves with him. The moment the door shuts behind them, Hermione and Ginny fall into a fountain of hushed whispers.

"What just happened?!"

"I don't know, I think he's in denial about Draco."

"I can't carry on like this, Hermione, in limbo. You said–"

"I know, Ginny, I know..."

"I love him!" Ginny wails, "I love him so much that I'm willing to let him go if it's the right thing to do, but when he acts like that..."

"I know, Ginny, I'm so sorry, I know this hurts for you..."

"No, you don't know! You don't understand! At moments like that, I think it just might work, that maybe, just maybe, I can truly have him... It gives me such hope, even though know I know that deep down..."

Her voice breaks. Hermione puts her arm around Ginny and comforts her sobbing friend. Nothing is ever simple around Harry Potter.

High up in the clouds, flying wild and free, Harry could almost dare to disagree.

* * *

"The cannons will win this year for sure!"

"They'll never win, Ron. They haven't won a championship since–"

"Shut up Hermione, you don't know anything about Quidditch anyway."

"Actually, I know all the rules better than you. And what's wrong with me taking an interest?"

"You're taking an interest in Quidditch?"

"I may not like flying, and hence playing it, but it's decent to watch and I want to be able to talk to you about it, I know how much you love it and now that we're dating..."

She's cut off as Ron throws himself across the bed, over Harry, who's sat in between the two of them, to kiss her.

"I love you so much." He says as he pulls back.

"I love you too!"

And then they both gasp as they realise what they've just said. Their first declaration of love. Harry groans.

"Why am I always in the middle of you two when this happens?!" He moans.

"Because you're with us most of the time." Says Hermione, still blushing wildly. "And–"

Harry shushes her. He can hear loud voices downstairs: someone arguing. Both of his friends quickly catch onto it, too.

"Whose voice is that?" Harry asks as he hears a familiar voice he can't place, yelling something loudly.

"It sounds almost like–"

Suddenly, Ginny bursts into the room.

"Harry," she says, out of breath, "come quick! Draco is here – looking for you."

"Draco?" Harry manages.

"What does _Malfoy_ want with Harry?" Says Ron with a degree of disgust.

"I don't know," his sister replies, "but he sounds angry..."

The trio rush downstairs, and sure enough, an angry blonde with an eye patch is arguing with a bunch of redheads in the doorway.

"Potter!" He shouts when he sees Harry, "You!"

"Me?" Says Harry with a semi-sarcastic tone of amusement.

"Outside." Draco growls. "_Now._"

"Harry is not–" Molly Weasley starts, but Harry interrupts, smiling at her reassuringly.

"It's okay, Mrs Weasley, I got this."

Harry puts his hand on Draco's back, an action which gives him little thrills he can't comprehend, and leads him out the house. They walk a little way from the Burrow so they can have a private conversation. The rest of the Weasley household has turned up by this point; they're assembling in a row outside the Burrow to gawp at Harry: there are little gasps and a whole catalogue of angry remarks and curious questions.

"What's the ferret doing here? What happened to his face?"

"He's not a ferret anymore, he's a pirate!" – This is George's voice, unsurprisingly.

"A pirate?!"

"Yeah, pirates have eye patches! I'm sure I have a rubber parrot I can give him somewhere..."

"They have wooden legs, too. Great excuse for me to hex of his legs, then..."

"Is that _Malfoy?_"

"How dare he turn up here! I'm going to kill him!"

"HEX HIM, HARRY!"

"Stop that!" – This particular voice is Hermione's, and Harry feels grateful to her. Obviously, Ron doesn't agree in the sentiment.

"What in Merlin's name, Hermione? Why are you standing up for that twat?!"

Harry leads Draco further away until the voices are just a muffle across the field. It's already quite dark outside, late evening, but Harry can see all of Draco's pointy features in the dim light of the Burrow and low moon.

"What are you doing here?" He softly asks his companion, who looks thoroughly pissed off.

"If you must know, I've come to _murder_ you. For turning up at my house yesterday and making a mess out of _everything_."

"Is that right?" Harry grins, feeling guilty nevertheless. Draco prods him in the shoulder with his wand angrily. Harry grabs the end of the wand in reflex; Draco tries to pull it away but Harry's firm, strong hand keeps the wand firmly in place: tip buried in Harry's shoulder. They stare at each other in challenge. There are gasps from across the field and Harry sees Ron running towards them as Hermione tries to pull him back, but Ron obviously thinking Draco is going to injure Harry. Harry quickly lowers Draco's wand, still keeping a firm grasp on it, and waves his free hand at Ron to assure him he's okay. Ron looks reluctant to leave off his chase, but Hermione drags him back.

"Potter, let go of my wand."

"No. Not until we finish this dispute."

Draco's eyes glow with violent hate, but his wand is pleasantly warm in Harry's hand. He opens his mouth to say something, but Harry gets there first.

"Look, Draco, I'm _sorry._" Harry says earnestly, almost pleadingly, and Malfoy's expression softens in the darkness; "I don't know why I did what I did yesterday. It was wrong of me. I was drunk and–"

"I knew it!" Draco shouts, but he appears to be fighting a smile. "I can't believe the _saviour _gets drunk."

"Oh _shut up._" Harry hates the word. _Saviour_.

"Where did you even get alcohol?! You couldn't have bought it yourself – it would have made front page news." Says Draco, half amused, half spiteful.

"Oh, I found it in the pantry of my house..."

Draco frowns.

"Your house." He says. "I went there today. _12 Grimmauld Place._ I couldn't find it. What the hell are you – or it – playing at, Potter?"

Harry grins. "You wouldn't be able to find it. But it's there, believe me."

"I don't." Draco spits back instinctively.

"I can show you."

"I don't want to see."

"I don't care. We can't continue this conversation here anyway. We'll go." Says Harry, looking at the Weasleys, who are beginning to get edgy.

"Weasels are uncomfortable with me being here." Draco smirks.

"Malfoy!" Harry swiftly pulls Draco's wand from the other boy's grasp and smacks the blonde over the head with it.

"Oi! What the hell!" He yells, grabbing his wand back as Harry laughs.

"Stay here. I'll just tell Hermione where we're going."

As Harry walks back towards the Weasleys, the entirety of them run back towards him, drowning him in questions he doesn't want to answer.

"What does he want?"

"What's he doing here?"

"Did you hex him?"

"Hermione." Harry says firmly. "I want to talk to Hermione."

He eventually manages to pull her aside and shoo off everybody else.

"What is it, Harry?" She asks.

"I'm talking him back to my house. I want to talk to him, but I can't do it here."

Hermione's face lights up.

"Okay," she says, and Harry swears she's fighting off a smile, "just don't hex each other into eternity, okay?"

"Okay."

"Will you be back?"

"I don't know. I will be at some point. My stuff's here."

"Why don't you get it now?"

Harry glances at Draco, standing across the field in the dark, arms crossed, wand sticking out of his hand.

"I'll tell him you've gone to get your things." She says with a smile. Harry nods and legs it inside. Most of the Weasleys follow.

"Now's not a good time!" He tells them.

"Harry! What on earth?" Ron looks indignified.

"I'll tell you later." Harry promises him, but Ron just frowns.

Harry eventually manages to grab his stuff and escape the ginger horde, making his way back to where Hermione and Draco are awkwardly ignoring each other.

"Right. Come on then, let's go." Says Harry enthusiastically. Draco replies with a sceptical look. Hermione chews her nails.

"Maybe I should go with you." She says after a moment, eyes flickering between the two.

"_No way_ is Granger coming with us." Says Draco, "I don't even know why _I'm_ coming with you."

"So we can chat."

"About what?!"

"We'll find a topic."

In truth, Harry just wants to speak to Draco. To see him. To be near him. To make him laugh. He doesn't know why he craves these things (Hermione's theory about Harry being the most oblivious person on the planet is as startlingly accurate as the rest of her theories), only that he needs them, and his impulse is driving him to act as he sees fit in the moment.

"I hate you, Potter."

"I hate you too, Malfoy. Now take my arm." Harry says, holding out said arm.

Draco sighs and takes it, as Harry smiles as a final farewell to a very worried looking Hermione. They disapperate, and Hermione jumps up and punches the air in joy, making a loud whooping noise much to the bewilderment of everyone who is watching her; everyone but Ginny, of course.

In a dingy alley in London, not far from Grimmauld Place, Harry and Draco reappear. The blonde boy lets go of Harry with almost violent speed, as if touching him causes his skin to bleed.

"Wow," he says in surprise. "We're not splinched."

"Thank you for the faith you put in my apparating abilities." Replies Harry, rolling his eyes.

"I don't put any faith in you to do anything, Potter. In fact, it's a wonder you're alive. It's even more of a miracle you defeated the Dark Lord."

"Cut it close a couple of times."

"I remember."

"Thanks for not telling Bella–"

"We don't talk about it."

"Why not? That is what we're here to do, isn't it, talk?"

"_Here?_ Please don't tell me you live in this alley..."

"No," laughs Harry, beginning to walk the familiar route to his house and beckoning Draco to follow, "it's this way."

"Hey – what are you doing?!"

Harry casts a quick disillusionment charm over them both; a man with a broom looks weird and Draco just looks out of place anywhere that isn't magically dominated.

"Concealing our asses." Harry replies.

They walk silently until they reach number 11 and number 13; and Harry's house magically appears.

"Well, where is it?" Draco asks, unable to see it.

"It's right there!" Grins Harry, pointing to the spot between number 11 and number 13. Draco rolls his eye at Harry.

"You're delusional, Potter."

"Wait here, you'll see it in a moment." Harry tells him, and walks towards the house. At some point, Harry disappears from Draco's view.

"Hey, Potter! Where've you gone? I can't see you!"

"Stay here!" Harry tells him again, but Draco doesn't appear to hear him, instead favourite to yell at the spot where Harry used to be. He's making such a racket that Harry is scared he'll wake the neighbours.

Harry sticks his head outside the charmed region.

"_Shut up, Draco._ You don't want to wake the muggles!"

Malfoy scowls at him.

"Hurry up," he replies, "I'm cold."

Harry runs up to the library, struggling to find the book he needs, and it takes him about ten minutes to locate the spell to alter the enchantment in order to allow Draco inside the house. Harry casts the spell, and then runs back downstairs, panicking – what if Draco's gone?

Harry flings open the front door, and Draco is standing there; cold, but still there.

"Fucking hell Potter," he says through shattering teeth, "what took you so long?"

"You're still here." Says Harry gormlessly.

"Of course I am! But if you want me to go –"

"No!" Says Harry, and Draco looks at him, startled, before quickly rearranging his face into a smirk.

"Blimey, Potter, had no idea you were so eager to see me."

Harry swallows hard and Draco just sighs, pushing past him and into the warmth.

"This place is a _wreck._" The Slytherin remarks.

"Thanks." Snaps Harry.

"No need to be so touchy."

"No need to be so damn nice. And if you must know, I'm redecorating."

"Oh, it's realllllllly showing through."

"Shut up, Draco. I haven't had _time._"

"Too many press conferences and interviews?"

"No! I haven't been to a single one!" Harry bites back.

"_Alright_," Draco says, frowning at Harry's temper, "calm down."

Harry takes a deep breath and leads the way into the kitchen, removing the disillusionment charm as they go.

"I noticed you redecorated your house, too." He says, taking a seat at the table. Draco copies him.

"Yeah," Malfoy answers almost dreamily, "you should have seen mum. We got home after the..."

Draco flinches.

"Battle of Hogwarts?" Harry finishes for him.

"Yeah." Draco recomposes himself, "The battle. She took a shot of Firewhiskey, pulled out her wand, and stripped all the walls, floors, basically the entire house. All the wall paper, carpets, furniture... everything. Threw it all out into the yard, cast an _incendio_, watched it burn. We had to sleep on the sofas she liked enough to keep. Next day she went to France – brought new wallpaper, flooring, beds, tables, chairs, paint... Redecorated the _whole_ manor in days. It was unrecognisable."

"It's beautiful." Says Harry, remembering the airiness, the white and gold, the soft cream carpets.

"Yeah, it is." Draco smiles. "So different. She didn't want it to look anything like it did when... When Voldemort was there. She even found a specialist to come and change the colour of the plants and peacocks so that the garden looked different!"

Harry laughs with Draco, but notices the blonde is still shaking from the cold.

"Wait here." He tells him.

Harry goes upstairs and grabs the quilt off his bed; he returns downstairs and casts it on the table in front of Malfoy.

Draco raises a perfect, blonde eyebrow.

"And what is this, Potter?"

"It's a duvet, genius."

"Yes I know but whyis it _here_?"

Harry shrugs.

"You're cold."

"_Hmph._"

"You're welcome." Says Harry, rolling his eyes again.

Draco observes the duvet with a sceptical scowl.

"Is it yours?" He asks, referring to the ownership of the offending bedding.

"Yes, it's mine, Malfoy."

"But then why–"

"For the love of Merlin, Malfoy, just put it around yourself, you're shaking!"

Draco eyes the duvet a little longer before picking it up and gingerly wrapping it around himself. Harry just sighs and lights the kitchen fire, finding some Butterbeer in the pantry and warming it up with a quick spell.

"Here." He says, passing a bottle to Draco, "this'll warm you up."

"You could have just lit the fire in the first place." Mumbles Draco, blushing slightly at having Harry's duvet wrapped around himself, but accepting the Butterbeer happily anyway.

Harry thinks he looks cute curled up it; and then he mentally recoils – did he just call Malfoy _cute?_ The horror!

"Potter, what the hell's gotten into you? You look like you've just remembered something traumatising."

Harry gapes at him. His hair is cascading over Harry's blanket, the same one Harry's going to _sleep under_ later on, the same one that Draco's fingers are nimbly holding onto, pulled so close to his face that the cover is in contact with his bottom lip, flushed rosy pink from the cold and then sudden warmth.

"Er–" Harry manages.

There's a quiet moment where only the raging fire is heard, as Harry stares at Malfoy for a moment, not quite sure what to do next, and then he looks away, blushing and trying to comprehend what he just did.

Draco scowls. Potter's acting very weird tonight.

"So," Draco says after a little silence, "what style are you thinking about?"

"Style?"

"Yes, to decorate the house in."

"There are styles?" Says Harry, his mouth hanging slightly open.

"Honestly, Potter, you're useless! But then again, given your fashion sense, I didn't expect your taste in interior design to be much better."

"I don't have any." Says Harry honestly.

"Exactly." Replies Draco, taking a swig of his Butterbeer.

"Maybe your mum can help me." Says Harry hopefully.

Draco frowns.

"She's taken an unhealthy shine to you since you came back to life."

"She saved it." Says Harry quietly.

"She did what?!" Draco nearly spits his Butterbeer back out.

"Didn't she tell you?"

"No!"

"How do you think I got away with being alive? She lied to Voldemort."

"She did what?!"

"You lied to –"

"We don't talk about that!"

"Why not?!"

Draco was looking anywhere but at Harry.

"C'mon Draco, are you just going to ignore everything that happened?"

"Well I'm certainly not going to talk about it to you!" Draco spit back.

"Why not?"

Draco stared pointedly at Harry.

"Potter. We have _never_ been friends, in fact, we were –"

"Yes, yes," Harry waves it away with his hand, "I know all that. But things are different now. The Dark Lord is gone. We don't have to _fight_ anymore."

"I can't believe you're saying this."

"Me neither." Says Harry, drowning his Butterbeer as Draco glares at him.

"So what are you saying, that we should be _friends_?"

Harry scratches his head.

"Maybe not that far just yet, Malfoy. How about a truce?"

"A truce will suffice."

Draco holds out his hand and Harry shakes it. It's freezing, and Harry has the urge to warm it up but Draco quickly pulls his hand back under the blanket.

"I'm still not willing to talk about _feelings_, though." Harry chuckles.

"You're willing to talk about interior design, but not feelings?"

"Shut up." Draco growls. "One is an art and the other is stupid."

"Good to know your manliness is consistent." Draco looks murderous and Harry quickly adds, "Although you _do_ look very manly in your eye patch."

"Good to know it serves a purpose." Draco mumbles.

"Well it does!" Harry exclaims, "It... suits you."

It's true. The eye patch does look pretty badass.

"Change the topic, Potter."

"Astoria's nice."

"Wish I could say the same about the Weasel."

Draco's scowling again, but Harry doesn't know if that's because he brought up Astoria or because Draco doesn't like Ginny.

"Why are you scowling?" Harry asks, not exactly being a man who exercises his ability of speech wisely.

Draco scowls even harder.

"Change the topic." He says again.

Harry thinks hard – was there anything Draco _wouldn't_ hate?

"Been flying lately?" He asks. Draco's expression changes completely.

"Not for a while." His voice is barely a whisper.

"We should go sometime." Says Harry.

"We? _Together?_" Says Draco, scowling again. Harry shrugs.

"Why not?"

"What's gotten into you, Potter?"

Harry sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Would you rather we just fight all the time, Malfoy? What's wrong with me being _nice_ to you?"

Draco looks taken aback by Harry's question, obviously not expecting it.

"I just don't understand _why._" He says in a quiet voice. "After all I did to you, after the way I treated you all those years..."

Harry's heart flips. Harry _knows_. He knows that Draco was always vindictive to Harry for other reasons other than pure hate...

"You've changed." Says Harry firmly. "After sixth year... You changed. You were reluctant to fight. You discovered a life of cruelty and hate isn't what you wanted."

"Don't psychoanalyse me Potter."

"I'm not! I'm telling you _why_. I'm only going to say this once more: I. Don't. Want. To. Fight. I want us to be civil to each other. Look, you went through a lot and I'm willing to bet you don't have a lot of friends right now. What's so bad about accepting one?"

Draco looks almost at the point of tears thinking about it all and Harry's heart burns to look at him.

"So, what," Draco finally says, "this is about your saviour complex? You're trying to save me as well?"

Harry groans and buries his face in his hands.

"You're impossible, Malfoy."

A sigh escapes Draco.

"Fine. Try and _save _me, see if I care. I'm going now, though." He says. Harry looks up and Draco looks pained.

"Going?"

"Well it's not like I'm going to stay here overnight." He says, shrugging Harry's duvet off himself and it passes through Harry's head that he wouldn't mind if Draco _did_ want to stay, "I'll owl you. I'm sure my mother will be overjoyed to help you redecorate." Draco rolls his eye and adds in a mutter: "Although it may be a bit of a lost cause with you."

They walk to the front door and there's a gush of cold wind as Harry opens it. Draco bites his lip at the prospect of facing it, and the action catches Harry totally off guard.

Harry actually finds it _sexy._

Oh God. He's been in denial. He wants to kiss Draco so badly, and yet he's been in denial all this time and...

"Goodbye, Potter."

Draco stalks away and Harry just stares after his slender figure, a figure cloaked in black and illuminated by the harsh muggle lighting of the street lamps, until he can no longer see him.

He's gone.

Harry slides down against the frame of the door, sitting on the front step until the early hours of the morning, until it is nearly light, with only one thing on his mind: a thing with beautiful soft silvery hair and lips that are usually positioned in a smirk or a scowl and an eye patch that the thing that haunts Harry's mind thinks it deserves.

"Fuck." Harry finally mutters to himself. Realisation has dawned upon the oblivious.

* * *

**A/N: There are reasons why Harry wasn't a Ravenclaw.**


	8. Possession

**A/N: Over 200 followers. Gosh how I adore you all *_***

* * *

"For the last time, we are _not _painting it red."

"Why not?!"

"It's a horrible, brash colour."

"It's colour of Gryffindor!"

"Exactly."

"Oh, c'mon Draco, it's just a door!"

"Harry, it's the _front_ door. It has to be a nice, discrete colour. Blend into the rest of the street."

"But the rest of the street can't see it!

"Doesn't matter."

"Yes it does!"

"It's the sentiment that counts."

"Sentiments are stupid."

"Are not."

"Are to."

"Are not."

"How much longer are we going to argue about this, Draco?"

"Until you shut up."

"I hate you."

"Hush now, child."

Harry opens his mouth to bite back but at the very same moment, Narcissa opens the very front door which Harry and Draco are stood arguing over.

"Honestly, you two," she says, "like an old married couple!"

Draco stares at his mother in disbelief and Harry blushes.

"Draco," she goes on, "Harry can paint his front door whatever colour he likes. Now come inside before you catch a cold, the both of you. You've been out here bickering for half an hour."

They reluctantly oblige, but Draco is not ready to give up the fight just yet.

"Fine." He says, "We can paint the front door red but only if we put tiles in the bathroom instead of that stupid fish wallpaper."

Harry gasps.

"No!" he exclaims, "I must have the fishy wallpaper! The fishies move, Draco, THEY MOVE! They swim around on the walls and –"

"I can't believe I agreed to this." Mutters Draco, pinching the bridge of his nose. Narcissa tries to stifle her giggles as Harry fights his internal debate of fishy wallpaper vs a bright red front door.

"But the fish!" He says to himself.

"Just paint the front door another colour, Harry. Any other colour." Says Draco desperately.

"_Anything _but the red?"

"Anything."

"Promise?"

"Yes!" Draco snaps, running out of patience.

Harry thinks for a moment and then smiles mischievously.

"Fine. Then I want the brightest, most violent shade of Hufflepuff yellow sold."

Draco recoils in horror.

"No!" He whispers in dread.

"Yes!" Harry whispers back just as dramatically, "and you _promised._"

"Fine! Have the red!"

"Nope. I want the yellow now!"

"_You are not painting the front door Hufflepuff yellow._"

"To hell I'm not. We agreed at you'd paint the front door, remember?"

"It's not happening, Potter."

"Oh, so we're back to _Potter_ now are we?" Laughs Harry.

"You want me to paint the front door of the ancestral Black family home _Hufflepuff yellow!_"

"So?"

"So it's an abomination! Stop laughing!"

"Pureblood." Harry laughs, rolling his eyes.

"Half-blood!" Draco hisses back. Harry raises an eyebrow.

"Ferret."

"Wank– WAIT, WHAT DID YOU JUST CALL ME?"

"He called you a ferret." Says Narcissa, trying not to laugh, and both boys startle – they'd forgotten she was there. "And if you don't stop being so mean to poor Harry, I'll turn you into one."

Harry beams at her, and Draco's mouth falls open.

"You wouldn't!" He says, slightly unsure.

"Wouldn't I?" Narcissa's face goes deadly serious, but she loses the facade as soon as Harry bursts out laughing.

"Please! Turn him into one!" He howls.

"But I'm just trying to help!" Says Draco angrily, "Do you _want_ the house to look like it was decorated by a colour-blind mongrel?"

"That's discriminating against the colour-blind!" Harry says.

"Honestly, Draco," says his mother sternly, "you're acting like you're moving in!"

Draco crosses his arms stubbornly, blushing slightly.

"I have more Black blood in me than he does." He mutters, pointing a finger at Harry.

"Now Draco," Narcissa says, smiling, "if you're going to be such a downer, I really will transfigure you into a ferret for the afternoon!"

"You wouldn't!" Her son bites back, much more sure of his words this time.

"_Really?_" Narcissa takes out her wand and raises an eyebrow. Harry watches expectantly, trying not to laugh out loud. Draco shifts his weight but holds his head high.

"I'm your son, you love me far too much to –"

There's a brilliant flash of light from the end of Narcissa's wand and Harry's mouth drops open as a beautiful snow white ferret appears in Draco's place, the colour of its silky fur broken only by a black spot around its left eye. If it's possible for ferrets to look angry, this one looks _furious._ Harry picks him up and Draco makes an angry squeaking noise which Harry finds positively adorable.

"Oh my," Says Narcissa, "if I'd have known he makes such a cute ferret, I would have transfigured him long ago."

"You don't think it's wrong?" Asks Harry, still smiling, stroking the ferret as it tries to bite him.

"Really, he had it coming. And I'm pretty sure it's totally harmless... Except maybe to his pride!" Narcissa laughs, before addressing Draco-ferret: "If you behave," she says to him, "I'll turn you back."

There are more furious ferret noises, but after that he settles down in Harry's cradled arms, head on the crook of Harry's elbow. Harry can't quite believe it: both how affectionate and endearing Draco is as a ferret; and how he himself almost wishes he could keep him in this form forever.

Almost.

But then Harry remembers Draco leaving just a few days ago in the dark, the way he bit his lip and the way Harry had been overcome with the need to kiss him – but of course, he never did.

The way Harry had sat on his doorstep until morn, thinking about nothing else.

The way Harry had continued sleepless and thinking about nothing else until he'd got Draco's owl, saying that Narcissa had agreed to help Harry redecorate.

The way Harry got nerve-wrenchingly excited when Draco wrote 'we' instead of just 'my mother' when arranging plans to meet Harry in a couple of days.

No, Harry can't bring himself to want to keep Draco as a ferret forever because the unfortunate banging in his chest every time he sees human Draco will turn into an unexplainable ache if he can never see him again.

Harry's train of thought is interrupted by a knock at the door which means Hermione has arrived, and Narcissa, acknowledging that Harry's hands are full, opens the door.

Hermione and Narcissa acknowledge each other brightly, almost as friends, before Hermione turns to Harry, and to the white bundle in his arms.

"Oh Merlin!" She squeaks at the sight of the ferret, "It's so cute! Where did you get it?"

She runs over and pats the ferret which growls a little, and Harry smiles broadly at her.

Her eyes flicker between Harry, Narcissa and the ferret for a moment before they widen to house-elf proportions.

"That isn't – is it?" She manages to choke out.

"Yup!" Harry chuckles. Draco nips him.

"Why is he... like that?!"

Harry looks towards Narcissa.

"The only way we could shut him up," she smiles.

"Good thing Ron isn't here," Hermione mutters, eyeing Draco the ferret doubtfully, but Harry can see she's trying not to smile. Eventually, her self control breaks and she lets out a tiny squeal. "Oh, he's _so_ cute!"

Draco has had enough and he clambers from Harry's arms and into the pocket of Harry's jacket, which is just large enough. His arms now empty feeling without a warm, fluffy ferret, Harry gives Hermione a disgruntled look, and receives a regretful one in return.

"Sorry!" She mouths.

For the rest of the afternoon, they fall into an easy routine. Narcissa has brought a giant home decorating catalogue and they sit around the drawing room coffee table discussing ideas; or more accurately, Narcissa and Hermione decide what's best and Harry nods occasionally, with Draco making loud, angry noises from Harry's pocket every time someone suggests painting something red, yellow or pink before settling back down.

Although petting Draco would seem like the most ludicrous idea under normal circumstances, now Harry can't seem to help but reach into his pocket and stroke the fluffy thing; something Narcissa and Hermione don't miss even though Harry hasn't got a clue they've noticed.

This happy arrangement lasts several hours, before they all have a tea break and Harry's mouth absently slips in conversation.

"So, Hermione," he says, "have you seen Andromeda and Teddy recently? I ought to go visit them again."

Narcissa goes deadly still, as does the bundle in Harry's pocket, and Hermione chokes on her biscuit. Harry forgot. Andromeda is Narcissa's long disinherited sister.

"Fuck!" He says in realisation.

"Harry! Language!" Hisses Hermione, as if _that _is what's important right now. Harry looks guiltily at Narcissa but she just smiles, her eyes glazed watery.

"How..." She stutters, "How is my sister?"

"She's... She's..." Harry manages before looking tp Hermione desperately.

"She's as best as can be expected. Taking it surprisingly well... All circumstances considered."

"She lost most of her family." Says Narcissa sadly, looking down at the table. Draco clambers out of Harry's pocket and over the table to his mother, crawling into her arms and nudging her cheek with his nose.

"Not everyone." Says Hermione quietly. "She's close with Ted's family, and she has little Teddy, and now she has all of us, too..."

"Her husband, her daughter, her son in law... Everyone who mattered..."

"You lost someone, too." Says Harry.

"Who?"

"Bellatrix." Says Harry. Hermione flinches violently.

"Bellatrix..." Says Narcissa with a soft chuckle, "Mad, mad Bella... We lost her long, long ago. To Voldemort. I haven't had any sisters in a long, long while."

"Andromeda's your sister!" Says Hermione firmly. Narcissa sighs softly at her.

"We disinherited her."

"Did you _want_ her gone?"

Narcissa thinks for a moment.

"No, of course not. I thought I did, I was made to think she was dirt, impurity. Treated her that way."

"But you're no longer bound by those obligations!" Says Hermione with something that borders on excitement.

"What do you mean?"

"You're sitting here! With a muggle-born and Harry Potter! I hardly think you care about blood purity anymore!"

Narcissa blinks at her as Harry recalls the strange events that lead to this situation. Draco's letter, and Harry rescuing Narcissa in Diagon Alley all those weeks ago...

"Of course not." Says Narcissa earnestly, "The war taught me what was truly important... And the Dark Lord's prejudices and methods were so extreme I began to hate them..."

"Exactly!" Says Hermione enthusiastically. "You could reunite with your sister! She needs one now more than ever, Merlin knows!"

"I severely doubt that she would be willing to reunite with me of all people, dear." Narcissa says quietly. "But thank you."

Hermione looks disappointed but says no more. The rest of the afternoon and eventually evening is spent tacitly avoiding the subject, but still a shadow has fallen upon Harry. Guilt. A guilt because of all those who lost loved ones and family, all the fallen at Hogwarts, friends.

So many are mourning.

Every time Harry sees George he always looks cheerful, as if Fred is right beside him, but Harry knows George locks himself up in his room and cries on Fred's pillow for days. The Weasley and Andromeda, though they try to be strong, are in deep, painful mourning. And Harry feels guilty because although sometimes he has his moments, cries late at night when he can't sleep, cries for Dumbledore, Remus, or Sirius and even Snape, he still manages to go on with his life so much better than other people.

But late in the evening, after they've all had dinner (which Narcissa still doesn't transfigure Draco back for, instead feeding him ferret-sized bites), Harry finally manages to shake off his guilt, to forget. Narcissa has long handed Draco back to Harry under the pretense of needing to wash her hands, and even Hermione has held the ferret, although it was a thoroughly awkward thirty seconds before she thrust him back at Harry.

At some point past nine at night, Hermione and Narcissa come up with some ingenious plan for the kitchen and Harry is left confused as they whisper excitedly about some obscure spell to regulate the freshness of vegetables. They don't even notice as Harry gets up and goes to sit on the sofa in front of the fire and progresses to have a one-sided conversation with his ferrety Malfoy.

"You know," Harry says to him, "you're so much more pleasant as a ferret. Who could have known?"

Draco nips Harry, and Harry laughs it off, but he has no idea how much that statement hurts Draco; the implication that Harry could never enjoy his company as a human being. But those thoughts melt away as Harry soothingly strokes Draco's ears, until both of them end up falling asleep, edged on by the constant buzz of Narcissa and Hermione's whispered plans. The two women find them there some time later, lain on the sofa: Harry stretched out on his back and Draco the ferret curled up to his side, Harry's hand on his head, which is resting on Harry's chest.

Hermione squeals in delight and Narcissa transforms Draco back but neither boy wakes; and she and Hermione just watch them both for a few minutes, Draco as a human now, cuddled up to Harry, whose hand is now softly buried in Draco's hair.

"See, that's what it should be like _all_ the time," Hermione finally sighs, looking pointedly into the distance as Narcissa wipes a tear away.

"I'd better be going now," the older woman says, "Lucius will be worried."

"What about Draco?" Hermione asks.

"He'll probably kill me in the morning but that's seven years..."

Narcissa trails off but Hermione understands. Seven years of hopes and dreams that both Narcissa and Draco thought could never _ever_ happen. For Draco, to sleep in Harry's arms, when he thought it so impossible...

Hermione herself feels the urge to cry a little.

"Are you staying here?" Narcissa asks her.

"No, I'm going back to the Burrow," Hermione tells her, smiling, "or Ron will worry. And I think it's best to leave them to sort things out on their own tomorrow morning."

Narcissa nods in agreement.

They turn off all the lights, leaving Harry and Draco only in the warm glow of the aging fire, covering them with a quilt before making their way to the alley nearby from which they both disapparate to their separate locations, hearts full of hope and smiling widely.

* * *

_**The next morning**_

_**...  
**_

Harry is ninety nine percent sure he's dreaming. He has to be, right? He's only briefly opened his eyes but that is unmistakably Draco who is lying on top on him, so warm and soft that Harry could almost convince himself its real. Harry wraps his arms around Draco tighter, opening his eyes again and brushing Draco's fringe aside so he can see Malfoy's face clearer; it's as sharp and pointy as usual but also serene and peaceful.

It's another one of his Malfoy dreams, Harry is sure. Why else would he be able to see perfectly? He wouldn't sleep in his glasses! That would be silly. Even if everything he touches does seem strangely more real than usual... Instead of pondering it over it, Harry chooses to close his eyes once more and glide his hand over Draco's back, his sides, his derrière (because he can), and then back up to his hair again, fingers threading absently through the ridiculously soft white blonde mop, and then tracing patterns along the back of Draco's neck... Harry could swear to half a dozen deities that Malfoy's skin has ever felt so soft in his dreams before. So _warm._

Draco is ninety nine and a half percent sure he's dreaming. Even if there was a possible reason why he's currently lain on top of Harry (he's peaked his eye open temporarily to check exactly who he's sleeping on), there can be absolutely no good reason why Harry bloody Potter would be touching his ass. No good reason at all. Hence, Draco resigns himself to believe it's all a happy dream and relaxes further into his imaginary Harry. Harry's hand creeps under Draco's shirt (really, Draco's imagination is incredibly vivid today, he can almost swear it's real, but of course, he's not that naive), palm gentle yet firm against his pale skin, exploring as if Draco's back is a forbidden map waiting to be found.

Draco opens his eyes, looking at Harry, who's smiling widely through closed eyes. Draco moves in order to kiss him and–

"OW!"

Something has just jabbed Draco in the leg, and he rolls off Harry and only the floor, and the other boy, disorientated and unbalanced, follows Malfoy onto the it, landing on top of him before Draco even has a chance to miss the warmth of his body.

"Malfoy?" He says in a somewhat confused tone, as the pain tells Draco this is definitely _not_ a dream.

"Yes, Malfoy!" Draco hisses back angrily, "What _was_ that?!"

Harry pulls a wand out of his pocket, still lying on top of Draco and glances at him apologetically.

"And what were you feeling me up for?!" Draco bursts at him, instantly regretting it. He's in such shock that his voice sounds angry.

"Er..." Harry says, blushing bright red and pulling himself off Draco, trying to think of a decent excuse, "I... er... thought you were... Ginny!"

"Right." Says Draco, properly angry now, having brought Harry's lie, "Fantastic."

"No need to sound so furious over a simple mistake!"

Draco growls, pulling himself to his feet.

"I'm not generally a pleasant person... You know this!"

"But you were so... _nice _yesterday! You only tried to bite me four times and you were so... so... cuddly!"

Harry feels like a moron for those words. It's way too early in the morning for him.

"Yes!" Draco hisses back, all red faced and raging, "Because I was a _ferret!_ It's in ferret nature to be cuddly and sweet and playful! And when one transfigured as an animal they have the urge to act like one!"

"Oh." Says Harry simply. They both fall silent, staring at each other red and confused and feeling entirely foolish until Draco lets out a low growl once more and stalks away. Harry listens to him run down the stairs and he's sure he hears a sob from below before the front door slams shut with violent force.

It's another ten minutes before Harry himself can move.

Draco's warmth.

Draco's warmth.

Draco's warmth.

Warm, warm, warm.

That's all Harry can think about. How _warm_ and soft he is. Ginny _never_ feels warm like that.

And how he misses it now.

When Harry finally goes downstairs to get some breakfast, he realises Draco has forgotten his shoes. Harry supposes he should inform the blonde and with several conflicted sighs, writes him an owl.

**Draco,**

**You forgot your shoes...**

**-Harry.**

Draco replies with his own owl eventually, which, as traditional, waits for Harry's reply.

_**Potter,**_

_**I am aware. We're having lunch with the Greengrasses at the moment but I'll be about to pick them up later on today, if that's okay with you.**_

_**-Draco.**_

Harry tries not to smile but fails. How could he not? – Draco is going to come back.

**Draco,**

**That's fine, I'll see you in a bit.**

**-Harry.**

The moment Harry sends the letter he wishes he'd asked _when_ Draco would arrive, in specific terms, and as the afternoon wears on he waits maddeningly for the knock on the door from a certain blonde Slytherin.

At about three o'clock, as Harry goes through the home decoration brochure for the millionth time, a ministry owl arrives. At first, Harry dreads a compulsory event or press conference, but the letter is from the Auror recruitment department.

_**Dear Mr Potter,**_

_**You have expressed an interest in becoming an Auror and are currently registered for training.**_

_**Training is scheduled to begin at 7am on Monday the 15**__**th**__** of June. Please arrive at the Auror Headquarters at the Ministry of Magic for this time, directions are enclosed.**_

_**Trainee Aurors are expected to train every day with the exception of Sunday once a fortnight, with a minimum of 4 hours a day, which will be scheduled for various hours during the day and night. Please take this into account: Auror training is not for the faint hearted.**_

_**We understand that many have recently lost friends and family and are hence unable to start training at this early date. If you have such circumstances, please contact the department and other arrangements will be made.**_

_**Please owl us your reply by Friday the 12**__**th**__** of June.**_

As Harry finishes reading, there's a knock on the door. It's Draco. And he looks... well, Harry doesn't know what he was trying to do to Astoria during lunch, because he's pretty sure the girl doesn't need any more seducing, but something along the lines of giving her a heart attack might have been guessable. Draco looks more like James Bond than a wizard, with his eye patch and robes that resemble a tailored suit and undone bow tie.

"Er..." Harry manages, searching for a compliment that isn't _you look like a fucking God_ and remembers that Draco is here because he forgot his shoes. He glances at Draco's feet, and before he realises what he's saying, blurts: "You're wearing shoes."

Draco raises an eyebrow.

"Honestly Potter, if you look at boys like that after you feel them up the very same morning someone is going to question if you're actually heterosexual." He says, sliding through the doorway around Harry.

"Of course I am!" Harry retorts quickly, shutting the door. "It's just that your robes look... Mugglish."

Draco makes a non-committal noise.

"All the rage in Paris." He says, sounding bored.

"Mmmmmm, bet _Astoria_ liked them." Harry says, trying to make his voice sound more teasing rather than betraying of the fact that Harry hates Astoria almost as much as he did Umbridge or Wormtail.

"She looked pretty incredible herself. Almost edible, in fact." Draco says casually, walking into the kitchen and taking some coffee out the cupboard. "D'you mind?" He asks, waving the jar around, "I have cravings."

"Help yourself." Says Harry bitterly, and Draco frowns.

"You sure? You sound like you're in a bad mood."

Harry is sure he'd be in a lot less of a bad mood if Astoria hadn't looked _incredible_ at lunch today. Or _almost edible_ at that.

"Oh." Says Draco suddenly, "I know what this is about."

Harry stops breathing.

"Look, I'm sorry," Malfoy goes on, "it was uncalled for."

"Don't be sorry!" Harry says quickly, "I don't care if you find your fiancé attractive! In fact, it's a good thing!"

Draco screws up his face.

"What?" He says, confusion lacing his voice, "I was talking about yelling at you this morning. I'm not good at... Being sweet..." he fades out and stares at Harry for a moment. His next words come cold. "Oh, I get it."

"Get what?" Says Harry, heart thumping fast.

"You _like_ her."

"Like who?" Harry says, growing confused.

"Astoria!" Shouts Draco, slamming his fist on the table. "You like Astoria! And you're in a bad mood because –"

"Because I'm worried about Auror training. I got the letter just now." Says Harry, thinking fast, waving the parchment he's still holding. Draco's facial expression changes completely and it's like Astoria's existence is suddenly the least important thing in the world.

"What? Why?" He asks, and if Harry isn't mistaken, that's concern on Draco's face.

"Well, everyone is going to be expecting me to do really well, aren't they? And what if I don't?"

"Harry," says Draco with a tone of finality, taking the letter and reading it as he talks, "you defeated the Dark Lord. I'm pretty sure you could spend your time transfiguring quills into chickens and they'd be overjoyed."

"But that's just the thing! I can't turn a quill into a chicken!"

Draco snorts.

"_Harry,_" he says, "you could make a corporeal Patronus at fifteen! You're one of the most powerful wizards in the world! You'll be fine!"

"Thirteen, actually." Harry smirks.

Draco's eyes nearly pop out of his head, but then he resumes his quest to make coffee.

"Do you want one?" he asks, motioning to the coffee as he places the letter on the counter-top.

"No, I'm good, I'll just get a Butterbeer," says Harry, quickly popping into the pantry to get one.

"I heard a lie, you know." Draco says quietly when Harry returns, only looking at his cup, which he's enchanted to stir itself. "I heard someone say that Snape was the only Death Eater who could make a Patronus. That's not true."

"Really?" Says Harry with genuine interest.

"My dad can make one. He showed me after... after some Dementors came to visit the Manor."

"Oh." Says Harry quietly, "what form did it take?"

Draco smiles a little.

"A wolf."

Harry's eyebrows go up; he was expecting a chicken or something.

"What about your mum? Can she make one?" Harry says in lieu of voicing his opinion.

"My mum's always been able to make one. An elephant."

"Wow! A wolf and an elephant!" Harry laughs, "Interesting match! What about you?"

Draco's smile goes.

"I can't make one." He says quietly.

"Sure you can!" Says Harry, putting his Butterbeer down, "C'mon! I'll teach you!"

"No, you don't understand, _I can't make one._"

"It's not too hard," Harry assures him, "I taught Dumbledore's army to do it in fift–"

"I don't have any happy memories dammit!" Draco bursts.

"None?" Harry says, frowning.

"None happy enough... The Dementors... they spent a lot of time around the Manor just... just months ago..."

"Well they don't have to be exactly _happy_, more like... Powerful. Do you have any powerful memories?"

"Plenty." Growls Draco, "but they have to be _happy_ memories, don't they? That's the _point_."

Harry shrugs.

"The first time I made a Patronus my memory was of my parents, and that wasn't exactly _happy_ but it was powerful. I could probably make one thinking about your mother lying to Voldemort in the forest."

Draco's eyes widen, then narrow.

"You're lying." He says. Harry thinks for a moment. Is he lying?

He takes out his wand, closes his eyes, and thinks deeply of Narcissa's voice. _Dead_.

"_Expecto Patronum_!"

Nothing.

Harry thinks more deeply. Her desperation. Her loyalty to her family. Her _love_ for her son.

"_EXPECTO PATRONUM!_"

Draco gasps as a stag elates from the tip of Harry's wand, his grey eyes alight as the Patronus gallops across the kitchen.

"Told you," says Harry, smirking. "Now you're going to make one!"

Draco looks terrified.

"I don't think I can..." he whispers, eyeing the stag carefully.

"Sure you can," Harry says softly, "just pick a really powerful memory. One that fills you up, takes over you..."

Draco nods and takes out his wand as Harry's stag stops at the other end of the kitchen and looks at them.

"_Expecto Patronum_!" He whispers. Nothing happens.

"Try again," Harry encourages.

"_Expecto Patronum_!" Draco tries again, louder now, and white vapour bursts from the end of his wand, but no formidable animal.

"Good!" Says Harry, "Out of interest, what memory are you picking?"

A blush graces Draco's cheeks.

"It's personal. But it is very... Happy."

"Right." Says Harry, understanding that it's probably something to do with him.

Draco sighs in the same way that one might if they were about to do something they're dreading.

"I have another I can try." He says, "But it's not happy as such..."

"Try," says Harry. Draco closes his eyes and a deep frown takes over his face.

"_Expecto Patronum_!"

A large animal swoops into the kitchen to join the stag. Harry's mouth drops open.

"It's a... It's a..."

"Hippogriff." They say together.

They stand in silence for a minute, staring at the creature.

"You know," says Harry finally, "despite the irony, it actually makes sense. Hippogriffs are very proud and easily offended..." _And protective and loyal_ Harry adds in his head, remembering Draco's devotion to his family.

And then Harry bursts out laughing.

"You were expecting a ferret, weren't you?" Says Draco beside him, still staring at his hippogriff.

"No. I'm just... glad."

"_Glad?_" Draco finally looks at him.

"During the war, you were so scared, suppressed... I don't think that's in a hippogriff's true nature. I mean to say... If you're a hippogriff at heart, I think you'll be okay. We'll have the cocky, proud Malfoy back yet!"

"Oi!" Says Draco, poking Harry in the ribs with his wand.

"Wolf, Elephant, Hippogriff." Says Harry, "Interesting family you got there, Draco."

"Yeah." He chuckles in reply.

There's a pause.

"What memory did you pick?" Blurts Harry, unable to control his curiosity.

Draco looks at him for a moment.

"You." He says.

"Me?" Harry's beating heart is louder than his voice.

"Defeating the Dark Lord."

Harry stares at him as the other boy turns away blushing, and before Harry knows what he's doing, he throws himself at Draco, hugging him tightly.

_Draco's warmth._

"Woah, Potter!" The other boy says, his voice muffled by Harry's hair, wrapping his arms around Harry's back nevertheless, "Potter, seriously, I –"

"Harry." Says Harry. "It's Harry."

"Harry." Draco obliges. "I –"

"Shut up and hug me, you fool." Says Harry.

Malfoy shuts up and pulls Harry closer. The hug lasts perhaps longer than it should. Much longer. But Harry finds it nearly impossible to let go, especially after spending the day wondering about being pressed close to him. And unfortunately, Harry likes the hug perhaps more than he should. Much more. Beyond Draco's steady breathing and the frame of his body, Harry couldn't care less if the world spontaneously exploded.

Eventually, they let go of each other and there's an intensely awkward moment between them as they stand mere inches apart, searching for something to say.

"SolunchwiththeGreengrasseshu h?" Harry suddenly bursts, wishing he could stop after_ lunch_ but not being able to control his tongue. Draco's Adam's apple bobs up and down as he swallows hard.

"Erm, yeah." He says shyly, "To discuss the... wedding."

"Oh. When is it?"

"Sunday 6th September."

Harry feels as if several of his vital organs have stopped working at once.

"That's less than three months away." He says, feeling himself go white.

"I know." Draco replies simply.

"Won't she be at Hogwarts?" Harry asks hopefully.

"She'll get leave for the weekend."

Draco stays for a while longer, but there's a downcast on the rest of their conversation as they both silently contemplate Draco marrying Astoria in just months. Their conversation is empty; centering on nothing in particular.

When the time comes for Draco to leave, they walk to the door, talking about making re-dectorating plans around Harry's Auror training schedule. Draco opens the door, but Harry hugs him again before he can walk out of it. That takes Draco by surprise, but it's only when Harry kisses him on the cheek (for reasons Harry himself can't understand), that he goes into shock.

"Bye." Says Harry, and Draco just nods at him moronically, practically running out of the door before he does something stupid like grabs Harry and snogs him senseless.

After watching Draco walk away, Harry runs up to his room and throws his hand under his pillow, and sure enough, there lies Draco's letter, which means more to Harry now than it ever did before.

_**Dear Potter, if I were dating you.**_

Harry reads it again and again until his eyes stop focusing.

Why? Why did Draco have to get engaged?!

Stupid Greengrasses. Stupid Astoria. Stupid _everything._

Harry is, in almost every sense, completely fucked, except perhaps in the one sense he'd like to be by Draco.

Totally and utterly _fucked._

And it's all because of his giant, burdening, undeniable and rapidly blossoming _crush_ on Malfoy. Draco fucking Malfoy of all people! And yet the man belongs to someone else, and Harry can't have him, and it's killing him inside.

* * *

**A/N: You. Yes, you. Leave me a review :3 ~Felix**


	9. Antagonism

**A/N: FINE FINE MY DARLING FOLLOWERS, YOU SHALL HAVE ANOTHER CHAPTER! Sorry it took so long, explanation & apologies at the end, and so until then, here's chapter 9...**

* * *

"Hermione, what in Merlin's name just happened?!"

"Nothing. Absolutely nothing." She replies to Harry, grabbing him roughly by the sleeve and pulling him in the direction of Grimmauld Place. The last thing Harry remembers is talking to Ginny in her bedroom at the Burrow. Ginny, who had been acting even more awkward today than usual. And then without warning, Hermione had burst into the room, slammed Harry's arm onto hers and apparated away with no explanation what so ever. She hadn't even bothered to apparate to the alley way they usually used – they'd arrived right in front of the house.

"Hermione!" Harry objects again, "You just apparated right in front of the house – the Muggles –"

"Yes, Harry, the Muggles." She says, so casually it scares Harry, as she opens the door.

"They could have seen!" Harry yells, in case she hasn't already understood the magnitude of her risk.

"We could have oblivated them. Now come inside!" She goes to shove Harry through the door, but at that moment a ginger head appears at the bottom of the road, running at full speed and yelling something angrily.

"Come back! I demand an explanation!" Yells a voice which Harry immediately recognises as George's. "_RIGHT NOW!_"

"George! Please! No!"

A second ginger head has appeared in pursuit of the first, a single female voice that is none other than Ginny's.

Harry glances at Hermione. She looks flustered and horrified, eyes avoiding Harry's with deathly precision. By this time, George and Ginny arrive at the boundary where 12 Grimmauld Place should stand. Confusion slowly washes over their faces.

"Where is it?" George says finally.

"I don't know." Replies his sister.

Then it hits Harry. The Vinerlope enchantment - the spell which Harry has put on the house to make sure nobody but a few select people could get in; and George and Ginny hadn't been put on that list yet.

"Harry?" Ginny calls awkwardly to the missing house.

Harry says nothing. For a long time, there is nothing but silence. Finally, George turns to his sister.

"Ginny? What's going on?" He says softly, putting a protective hand on Ginny's shoulder.

Ginny shakes her head at the floor.

"Ginny... What you and Hermione were talking about earlier..." He tries again.

"Not here." Ginny says quietly.

"Home?" George replies, casting a cautious look at 11 and 13 Grimmauld Place.

"Home." Ginny agrees. "We'll ask about that" – she motions to the missing house – "later."

"Back to the Burrow it is!" Says George with attempted cheerfulness, swinging his arm around his baby sister. As they walk away towards the apparition alley, they start to talk but Harry cannot hear what they are saying.

"Hermione?" He says eventually, turning to the worried looking girl in the open doorway.

"_George knows._" She blurts, blushing like a Weasley on a bad day.

"Knows what?" Says Harry, growing more worried by the second. It had been a fairly ordinary (as ordinary as it could get now) day at the Burrow. Well, except for one little detail – that evening he and Hermione were going to Draco's engagement ball. They had been sent an unexpected invitation a couple of days ago. They had accepted immediately of course, both Harry and Hermione hadn't seen the Malfoys since their last visit – they'd been very busy with the engagement (which was driving Harry quite loopy), and as much as neither of them would never admit they missed them, they very much did.

Although Narcissa Malfoy had always been very cold, and had looked positively disgusted by every little thing, that facade had worn off so quickly Harry has forgotten it was ever even there, and both Harry and Hermione – especially Hermione – have grown very fond of her. Harry secretly thinks it's because Hermione misses having a mother, as her parents were still in Australia (the wizarding world is still a mess and Hermione thinks that now was not quite the right time to deal with her parents).

And Draco – well Draco is a different question entirely. He and Hermione have managed to be civil to each other, but they seemed in no particular rush to be friends. Harry's relationship with Draco is far more complex. Since Draco's last visit, they had owled each other every day, talking about nothing in particular, nothing exciting, just run of the mill checkups on one another. Harry can't forget their moments of intimacy the last time they'd seen each other, but he also has no idea where they stand. It has been driving him half mad all day, wondering how Draco will act tonight...

"You know them" – Harry snaps back to real life as Hermione stops and flinches, a long and breathless moment as Harry flips to confusion – "_George"_ _Oh. _Hermione had said _them _automatically before realising there was only one twin now, "George and his extendable ears. He snuck one into Ginny's room and overheard Ginny and I talking about the ball this morning and–"

"Ginny knows?!" Harry screeches. Hermione looks as if she's on the verge of tears, but Harry is furious. Now Ginny will think he's been lying to her! How long had Hermione been feeding her information behind his back?

Before he knows what he's doing, he runs out of the house, despite Hermione's little scream of _Harry, no! _and sprints at full speed towards the Weasleys.

"Ginny, wait!" Harry shouts. George spins around instantly, but Ginny turns on her rooted spot after coming to a stop, slowly, quietly.

"Could you? Could you do it?" She says softly, eyes gently filling up with tears, and Harry instantly knows Hermione has told her about Harry's feelings for Draco, too. "Could you spend your life with me? Could you come home every day and kiss me, could you still love me, after the years have passed in decades? Could you build a home with me, could you be happy with me, could you want me, after we've grown old and our children have had their own? Is it really me you've been looking for all these years?"

Harry doesn't even think.

"Yes!" He bursts automatically. Ginny is his _girlfriend_, he can't let her down, not now when she needs him most...

"Then why didn't you tell me you and Malfoy were... were..."

Ginny appears at a loss for the right word, and Harry panics.

"Friends." Ginny finishes. Relief floods through Harry. At least George doesn't know about Harry and Draco, because if he did, the rest of the Weasleys would surely find out too... Ron...

"Didn't think you'd approve." Harry breathes quickly.

"I _don't_." The girl bites back, "But it's better than being _lied_ to."

Harry looks at the floor guiltily. He feels terrible. He feels like he's cheating on Ginny, even if he's done nothing about his feelings for Draco...

"If," Ginny goes on, "if you really wanted to go to Malfoy's engagement party, for whatever reason, why not just tell me?"

"I don't know." Harry says quietly.

Ginny just stares at him.

"Look, Ginny, I'm so sorry," Harry gushes, "I won't go if you don't want me to –"

"Go to your ball." She says solidly. "And have a long hard think about _us. _Look around at some alternatives while you're there, why don't you?"

Ginny stares at Harry intently, making sure the meaning of her words are sinking in, and George clears his throat, having grown silently confused during the conversation. Ginny sighs, nods at George, spinning on her heel as she walks away. Her brother follows her almost immediately, but not before throwing a dirty glance at Harry.

Harry just watches them walk away, until they vanish out of sight and until he hears the crack of apparition. He stands there a little longer, his mind at a loss of what to think.

Finally, he walks back to the house.

Hermione is still stood in the doorway, paralysed, the glistening trail of tears on her skin still wet enough to reflect the light. Harry just looks at her, waiting.

"He found me while you were with Ginny in her room." She says after a long moment. "He hadn't heard all of the conversation that morning; only a small part about you and I going to the ball tonight. As you can expect, he was really confused. He'd tried to make sense of it all day but finally gave up and went to talk to me while I was alone. I _panicked, _Harry. I just ran and got you. I couldn't think of anything to say for the first time in my life. Fred was killed by the... The people..."

"We'll be seeing tonight." Harry finishes for her, before issuing a correction: "The _kind_ of people. Not the same. Everyone who is guilty is in Azkaban."

Hermione swallows.

"Right." She says, voice so quiet the single word is nearly lost in the wind.

"Why did you tell Ginny?" Harry asks, trying to keep his voice calm.

"Because it needed to be done." Hermione replies.

"But _why_?" Harry presses, voice loosing it's cover of patience.

Hermione's brow snaps to an angry furrow.

"You were acting weird, and Ginny knew it! She thought you were going to break up with her anyway! All I did was tell her the truth so that when it all came out, it wouldn't be so painful or such a surprise! You're far too noble to tell her now anyway!"

"And you're not?! You know how upset she is over Fred! Why would you tell her?"

It doesn't make any sense to Harry – Hermione cares just as much for Ginny as he does, and yet she told her, even when she knew it would break her heart.

"Because she loves you!" Screams Hermione frantically, "Because she only wants the best for you! And for years, for _years_, she has loved you, just like Draco, she has _loved you, _and she would be willing to give you up if it meant you being happy. Even if it meant giving you to Draco Malfoy. And if she had found out in several months time that you had watched your happiness run off and get married to some pretty little Slytherin just because you were too afraid to hurt her feelings while she was in mourning, she would never forgive herself! Or me! Or you!"

Hermione is panting, such is the desperation in her words, and Harry feels the guilt washing over him again.

"But I –" Harry begins, unsure of what to say anyway.

"Shut up and go get dressed." She says.

Harry, with no idea of what to think, feel or do, obliges.

* * *

"Mother."

"Son."

"Remind me, why, exactly, are Granger and Potter attending my engagement ball?" Says Draco, staring intently at his mother as she fixes the finishing touches on his robes.

"Mrs. Greengrass, my dear. She absolutely insisted!" Replies Narcissa delightfully. Draco eyes his mother suspiciously and Narcissa does her best to look innocent. The Greengrass mother _had_ insisted... After Narcissa had dropped her the idea over a cup of afternoon tea a couple of days before. The other woman seems to be under the impression that Draco and Harry are absolutely _fantastic_ friends, and Narcissa is not about to say anything to contradict her otherwise.

"What did father say?" Asks Draco.

"He twitched a little, but he's in no position to argue."

Draco sighs. His father cannot be in any way pleased with the idea that a mudblood and bloody _Harry Potter_ were attending his otherwise strictly pureblood congregation, but with the Malfoy name currently in the dirt, associations with such heroes as Potter and Granger are priceless to Draco's father.

Draco sighs some more.

"And remind me why, exactly," he goes on, "Potter and Granger accepted? Surely they don't want to spend an evening locked in a room with several dozen angry –"

"_Harry _and _Hermione_ are attending because we're helping them re-decorate Grimmauld Place." Interrupts Narcissa.

Draco groans audibly. He knows exactly what his mother is trying to do. She's trying to get him to spend time with Harry so that he won't marry Astoria. So that he changes his mind. So that he'll scream _I just can't do it! I can't marry her! _But Draco is stronger than that. It hurts more and more each time he sees Harry, but he can get through this. Once he marries Astoria, his family, and the Malfoy name, will be truly safe and secure once again. And not even Harry Potter is worth the risk of that. Not even _Harry_.

Besides, Draco is almost starting to like Astoria. Smart, clever and beautiful, she's a pureblood witch of talent any man would be overjoyed to have.

_Especially_, it seems, Harry Potter – Draco hasn't missed how he twitches uncomfortably in her presence or at her mention; the way he looks her up and down with badly disguised lust... Yes, Harry Potter would very much like to have Astoria Greengrass, and it pains him every time he's reminded that he can't.

Draco will have to talk about her more often in front of the _saviour_. In fact, Draco's mind is currently entertaining the idea of following Potter around all night, talking about the virtues and utter loveliness of his soon to be wife. Pain the Gryffindor a little.

Some might say this enjoyment that Malfoy receives is strange, and maybe in some senses it is, but for seven years Harry has had, has _been_ Draco's every desire, and now the tables are finally turned. Even if Harry is continuing to mess with Draco's head (Draco has done everything in his human power to forget the kiss on the cheek Harry had given him the last time they met, without much success... or any at all if he's honest), Draco now has weapons to play with, too.

Every time Harry looks at Astoria, a dark depth is revealed in his green eyes. He wants her. Draco just _knows. _But the dear Astoria, an almost perfect embodiment of Slytherin aristocracy, is madly truly deeply in love with Draco.

And Draco never lets his ego forget that it look him barely took five minutes to charm her.

The Malfoy is still basking in his self-importance when Narcissa calls: _come along dear, _as the first guests start to arrive. He welcomes them each with beaming confidence and formality, and they beam back just as brightly – even a Dark Mark and the abandonment of the Death Eaters, a combination of which makes him a target for victims of _both_ sides of the war, can't harm Draco's charm with these people, it seems.

And then, Draco's guest of honour arrives. He hasn't told his mother yet, although his father knows. See, his mother played dirty. She invited Harry and his bushy haired elf-lover. And so Draco was going to play dirty, too. If Harry was coming, then Draco may as well make the most of it – whatever that would entail. But that would mean Granger would have to be distracted.

"Viktor Krum," says Draco smoothly as he greets his guest.

"Draco Malfoy!" the other man replies, "congratulations on your engagement..."

The two chat brightly for a couple of minutes, but Viktor abruptly stops mid-sentence at the sight of a beautifully clad Hermione Granger, not that Draco has even so much as acknowledged her – he's too busy staring at the man from whose arm she is hanging.

The Chosen One looks straight back, and their gaze is only broken by Hermione clearing her throat in acknowledgement to Krum.

"Viktor!" she breathes, "I had no idea you'd be here!"

Viktor just about manages to nod moronically, and the two continue awkwardly looking at each other in silence. Draco risks a side glance to Harry, but the green eyes are already on him, which nearly makes his heart stop a million times all at once.

The four of them are saved from their strange limbo of staring by the arrival of Blaise and Pansy, both of whom look vaguely displeased with the entire arrangement of coming together. However, the moment their eyes set on the troupe of awkwardness in the doorway, their expressions change immediately. The aura around Pansy suddenly changes to something sly, mischievous, something very Slytherin, but Blaise looks more annoyed, and something almost _angry_.

"Why _Potter,_" says Pansy with malicious delight and a few bats of her eyelids, "I had _no_ _idea_ you'd be here, what a _pleasant _surprise. Tell me, are you still seeing that Weasley girl?"

Draco immediately tightens up, but Harry is so hit by the unexpected attack that his muscles can't even react, he's just stood there like a dead jelly fish with a skeleton.

When nobody says anything, Pansy just breathes out, making an 'unintentional' noise far too sexualised for the comfort of anyone around her, and raises her eyebrows in amusement.

Draco coughs slightly, trying to act calm and collected as he draws the attention of the party to himself.

"The ball room is through that door," he says, gesturing Krum, Hermione and Harry to the obvious entrance, "I'll be right behind you."

Harry gives him a strange kind of look and Draco tears his eyes away instantly. The three of them set of, and the moment they disappear through the door, Blaise grabs Draco by the collar and drags them both into a room he knows will be empty. Pansy follows behind half-heartedly, dragging her heeled feet and shutting the door behind her.

"What is Potter doing here?!" Blaise hisses, "you _know_-"

"Yes, Blaise, I _know_!" hisses Draco back. "Do you really think he'd be here if I had a choice? This is my mother's doing!"

"Draco," Pansy moans in a bored tone as both boys ignore her, "I thought you were going to marry _me._"

Blaise sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose.

"For the love of Merlin, Draco," he says finally, "just keep yourself under control, okay? Public appearance is _everything_ right now."

"My mother doesn't seem to think so!" Draco bites back. "She doesn't seem to understand how much it hurts to be around him!"

"I don't see why you had to go get yourself engaged to that skinny bitch!" Wails Pansy unhelpfully.

"Draco, keep yourself together_,_" Blaise says firmly, "or else you're _screwed._"

"Our babies would have been _beautiful._" Pansy goes on.

Blaise and Draco carry on ignoring her.

"What's the plan then?" Blaise says, straightening himself up.

"Astoria. Very close. Practically slobber all over her. But elegantly." Draco replies.

"See I _told_ you," Pansy says in the background, "I told you I would be bad."

Draco flinches at the memory of her asking Harry if he was still seeing Ginny, but Blaise might as well have never heard her.

"You better keep yourself on track. My mother will _murder me_ when she finds out I came, because so much as an association with _your _name will damage _mine..._" Says Blaise, shaking his head.

"Don't be so naive, our name is not _that_ bad."

"Really?" Blaise counters with unimpressed pursed lips.

"I'll take your name,_ Draco_." Purrs Pansy.

"Pansy, _shut up._" Draco hisses, acknowledging her at last, "I know that you're bored, but would you stop taking it out on me?!"

"You don't _understand_," she moans, "I cannot find a single guy to seduce. Every man I decide to marry is either gay or already engaged, or extremely boring like Blaise."

"Oi!"

"But it's true!" Bemoans Pansy, "If I married you, you wouldn't even have sex with me on the kitchen floor!"

Blaise makes a disgusted face, swiping a hand through the air in defeat and heading back towards the door.

"Keep it together, _Pantsy_." He says with his back to her.

"Oh _mature._" She says, following him, "this is _exactly_ how a grown man should act."

All three sets of eyes in the room roll, before being composed with cold Slytherin intent once more, each set on their respective tasks of not fucking up entirely. And out they go into the night, to charm strangers and keep up the reputations of the names that they have always held with such pride.

* * *

Harry puts down what must be at least his fifth glass of champagne, eyes darting across the beautiful ballroom after the soon to be Mrs. Malfoy and her fiancé as they sweep across the floor in an extravagant dance. Harry isn't sure if he's annoyed by the gloatingly delighted look on her face or just the fact that she exists at all.

Her dress trails her beautifully, obviously tailor made and very expensive, and everyone who isn't dancing is stood aside and admiring her and Draco. They haven't torn their eyes away from each others for the entire song, and Harry is starting to despair a little. He's been watching them for the last few hours, and is pretty sure that nobody looks at someone else like that unless they have enough feelings for them to fill the Black Lake at Hogwarts.

Why was he even invited? This is _torture_.

Harry watches as the song ends and several people switch partners and others leave the floor. Draco and Astoria say locked together, talking gently, heads close together, looking fully intent dancing the night away in each other's arms.

"For Merlin's sake, stop torturing yourself!" Harry nearly jumps out of his skin as Hermione materialises beside him, fresh from her third dance with Krum. "Go have a dance, it's actually quite fun!"

Harry thinks for a moment. He knows exactly what Hermione means. Have a dance with her, or with some other pretty girl standing on the side, waiting to be asked. But something like that would require common sense, and that's not very much like Harry at all. He takes a leap of faith and a chance.

"May I?" he says, after slithering through the crowd and walking straight up to Draco and Astoria. Draco looks scandalised and murderous, but Harry keeps his smile happy and warm, if not slightly cheeky. Astoria giggles.

"Of course." Replies Draco coldly, slapping Astoria's hand into Harry's before storming away.

Harry raises his eyebrows at the girl before him.

"Jealous type isn't he?" he says, before spinning Astoria around as the song begins. He only receives another giggle as a reply. Harry spots Hermione across the room, staring at him with her mouth slightly open, but she's now stood next to Viktor, drink in hand, so Harry only raises his eyebrows at her, too.

The music speeds up and Harry suddenly remembers he hasn't danced since fourth year, and more over, he discovers he can't dance _at all. _The whole dance is basically Harry and Astoria half way hopping around each other with no rhythm, and half way through, someone finally loses it and bursts into giggles at Harry's pathetic attempt to dance. Soon, the whole hall is a hoard of laughter. Draco looks like he's having trouble holding back tears, and Pansy is actually on the floor in her hysteria, being picked up by Blaise, who appears to Harry to be attempting a look that suggests annoyance, but his lips are twitching with a smile. Astoria is laughing too, and Harry takes it all in his stride and only dances harder (more horrifically), and earning himself the status of comical hit amongst semi-Death Eaters.

As the song comes to a close, Draco swaggers back over.

"Well, I think we can all agree that Mr Potter has had one too many tonight!" he says loudly, and the crowd roars with laughter. His eyes flick to Harry's, holding the stare as he utters much more quietly: "Would you quite mind if I had _my wife_ back now?"

Not bothering to wait for Harry's reply, he puts a gentle hand on Astoria's cheek and leans down to kiss her. Astoria's hands instantly drop from Harry's, who stands awkwardly before the passionately embracing couple with the smile wiped off his face. Realising that the people around them had noticed his sudden loss of enthusiasm, he improvises a wolf-whistle, and the congregation cheers. Draco finally pulls away from Astoria's lips, but Harry has already turned to walk away, heading towards the edges of the room and grabbing another glass of champagne from a platter floating by. Hermione catches up to him quickly, and Harry has trouble keeping his fake smile up and the sight of her unimpressed face.

"Harry!" she whispers.

"Hermione!" Harry whispers back, just as dramatically.

"What are you doing?!" she hisses.

"Competing for the affections of Draco's fiancé, obviously!" Harry laughs, "But then again, I could ask you the same thing." He replies, tilting his head in Krum's direction. Hermione blushes furiously.

"We're just friends." She says finally, holding her head high.

"Riiiight. Just friends."

Hermione casts him a deathly glare, and he takes another swig of champagne.

"How much drink have you had?" says Hermione, casting him a cautious look.

"Obviously not enough if you're still asking." He replies, finishing his glass.

"Harry!" his friend hisses as he picks up another glass from the table behind him, "you _are_ drunk!"

Harry just shrugs. He doesn't know, and neither does he care. His eyes are fixed on Draco as he swirls around on the dance floor with Astoria, looking like the happiest man on earth. Harry clutches his glass a little harder.

"Harry, I think we should lea–"

At that precise moment, Hermione spots Viktor coming in their direction, obviously unable to leave his impromptu date alone for even a minute, and Hermione seems to entirely forget the rest of her sentence. Harry takes the opportunity of distraction to slither away.

The whole room seems to be closing in on him, a burning in his head, and he's already outside, in the cold and clear night before he realises he has no idea where he's going, and that there are tears escaping from his eyes. He wipes them away furiously – how could he be so weak? – and looks around. He's standing on the pathway of a garden, beautiful and preened, illuminated by the lights streaming from the windows of the mansion.

Malfoy Manor is rather beautiful when you haven't been dragged there as a prisoner with the entirety of your face blown up with a painful stinging hex.

Harry breathes deeply and heads for a secluded spot within a group of trees, hoping nobody will notice if he disappears for a while. The music is so loud that it is pouring out into the undergrowth – Harry can hear every note as he stands among the flora.

He absorbs the music for a while, trying his hardest not to imagine the kiss which Draco gave to Astoria, and failing miserably. Suddenly, there's a sound behind him and Harry instantly pulls out his wand. He waits, listening as the sound, like gentle footsteps, get closer and closer.

He prepares himself automatically for a duel, and as the source of the noise steps out from the bushes, Harry finds that he's nearly stunned a peacock. He lets out a long breath, turning around and nearly jumping out of his skin as he finds Hermione stood there.

"Hermione!"

"Don't you dare think about running away from me again, Harry Potter." She says, pointing a finger at him. "You have to listen to me. You can't go on torturing yourself about Draco like this! You have to do something about it, like _tell _him how you feel."

"You're the one parading around with Viktor like he's your boyfriend!" Harry shouts, not being able to think of any counter nor rationalize why he just _can't_ tell Draco, and urgently needing to let his anger out.

"_Ron_ is my boyfriend!" Says Hermione, confused and scandalised.

"Exactly!"

"Well you can't accuse me of anything – look at how you treat Ginny!" She yells, face furrowed in hurt.

"I never said I loved her!"

"And did I ever say I loved..."

She fades away, remembering that she _has_ told Ron that she loves him. She's still for a moment, brows crumpling up for a split moment before she bursts into tears. Harry instantly throws his arms around her, something he doesn't usually do, but as its his fault that she's crying, its only appropriate.

"Hermione... I'm so sorry..." he whispers.

"No, it's me," she sobs into his shoulder, "I'm a terrible person!"

"No, you're not–"

Hermione only howls harder.

"I am! He needs me! He needs me now more than ever! And I – I..."

Harry clutches her harder, guilt rising like bile in his throat. Guilt for Hermione, for Ron, for Ginny, for all the Weasleys, the ones he's basically been lying to, deceiving, at their greatest hour of need...

"No." Says Hermione suddenly, pulling away from Harry.

"No?" Asks Harry as a reply.

"No." Repeats Hermione. "I'm not betraying Ron. I _do_ love him. It's just Viktor..."

She sighs deeply and goes on.

"Viktor was the first person to ever like me. The first one who ever thought I was beautiful. The first one who ever wanted to kiss me, the first one who _did._ He's an international Quidditch star and yet... he was nervous about asking me – _me!_ – out. He could have had anyone and yet... Well, it's just difficult to forget what that felt like."

Harry just nods, at a loss of what to say. Hermione pulls out her wand and casts a quick spell, her eyes suddenly changing from teary and smudged to clear and perfectly elegant again.

"I'm going to go back inside." She says, "And make sure Viktor understands where my loyalties lies."

"Would you like me to come with you?" Harry asks.

"No." She replies, "This is personal, and I have to sort it myself."

They look in understanding at each other for a moment and then Hermione walks away. Harry twists his wand between his fingers as he watches her dress trail behind her.

"Potter."

Harry nearly drops his wand. Draco's voice is both silkily and startlingly sober at the same time, like drowning in honey rather than wine.

"Malfoy." Harry says, trying to make his voice sound calm and confident. Draco walks around him and comes to a stop directly in front of Harry, far too close for comfort. His silhouette is as silky as his voice against the backlights of the Manor's large windows, rays of candlelight whispering through his hair.

"If," Draco begins slowly, "you _do_ have the impertinence to dance with my future wife, could you first have the decency, and perhaps more over, _dignity_ to _learn_ how to dance first?"

Harry snorts.

"My dancing is just fine, Malfoy." He says. In truth, Harry knows his dancing had been disastrous, his waltz had been 95% trying not to step on Astoria's feet, but as if Harry was going to show his weakness to Draco of all people.

"Oh please, I've seen squids more elegant than you."

"Oh then pray teach me, great one!" says Harry, rolling his eyes and throwing his hands up as in defeat. As he brings them back down, Draco steps forward and takes one, placing it on his waist, holding Harry's other hand in his own. Both the material of Draco's robes and whatever angelic substance Draco's skin is made out of are both extraordinarily soft under Harry's palms.

"I'm going to teach you to lead." Says Draco calmly, resting his free arm on Harry's shoulder, "As I assume that most of the time you plan to dance with those of the opposite sex rather than those of the same."

To Harry's ears, it sounds more like a question than a statement, but Draco is already looking at Harry's feet, not giving Harry a chance to explore his eyes.

"Now, Potter, how is your footwork?" Draco asks, looking up again.

Harry makes a noise that is somewhere between 'ummm' and actual words, before remembering that breathing is something he had to do to live. He hadn't drawn breathe since the touch of Draco's skin on his, so gentle that it had caught Harry entirely off guard. Draco raises an eyebrow as Harry mobilizes his lungs again and – was that Harry's imagination or did Draco just pull him closer?

"One must actually _move_ to dance, Potter." Says Draco with badly disguised amusement as Harry just stands there suddenly wondering if Draco only calls him _Harry _when he feels safest...

"Right." Says Harry, trying to move his feet, which seem to be glued to the floor as consequence to his proximity to Draco. The Malfoy talks Harry through the steps with a surprising amount of patience – _one two three, one two three, no, no, not like that... yes, that's better..._ – correcting him with gentle nudges and encouraging him by speeding up the dance, and before long, Harry forgets where he is entirely and feels like he's never been so happy in his entire life.

They spin around, and Draco smiles in the same way he did when the birdy in the tree sang back to him that sunny day, the first time Harry had ever seen Draco truly smile, and he realises that Draco is giving him the rarest smile of them all. Heart racing, Harry lets himself smile back for all the life of him, praying that some moments would never end.

* * *

Harry curls up in his duvet covers even deeper, smiling in his half-consciousness, remembering. He doesn't know exactly how long he danced with Draco last night, and it doesn't matter, because the memory is playing on an infinite loop, like a broken movie that Harry _never_ wants to fix.

After they'd finally stepped apart last night, Draco and Harry had looked at each other for a moment, eye to eye, and Harry could tell that Draco was looking for words to say: _I have to go back now._ Harry had just nodded to him with the same silence, having no intent of making his blonde say a single word, fingers lingering over Draco's open palm for the very last moments before he walked away. Harry hadn't the heart to go back inside and watch that same man dance with someone else, with his fiancé, his woman; instead Harry had chosen to go straight home, crawl into bed and replay everything in his mind a thousand times as he fell asleep.

Since waking up and going through the memory over and again, Harry is beginning to wonder if he can just stay in bed forever and do this. He opens his eyes a little, intent on reaching for his wand and checking the time and–

"HOLY SHIT!"

Stood over him is a very angry looking Hermione Granger, her arms folded across her chest and a rolled up news paper clutched in her hand so hard, her knuckles are white.

"How did you get in here?!" Harry half way screams, still in shock.

"Magic." She replies through gritted teeth, her gaze deathly.

"Why?!" Says Harry.

"You left me last night, you absolute bastard!" He says, thwacking him around the head with the newspaper. "I was looking everywhere for you!"

"Sorry." Mumbles Harry, rubbing the spot on his head where Hermione had hit him.

"Get up." She says, every word husky with anger.

"Look Hermione, I'm really sorry about last night, if I had known you'd be so angry I would have–"

"Trust me, there are people a lot more angry with you than me at the moment." She replies, turning her back and walking to pick up a t-shirt hanging over the edge of a chair, throwing it at Harry.

"Who?" Harry replies, eyebrows frowning. Hermione sighs deeply.

She taps her newspaper with her wand, and it flies over towards Harry, unrolling itself in front of his eyes as she leaves the room, a gentle click sounding as the door closes behind her.

Harry's mouth falls open.

On the front page is the biggest moving picture in the history of wizarding journalism: Harry Potter, arm around Draco Malfoy, waltzing around in the gardens of Malfoy Manor, his smile so big it could be seen from Pluto.

**A/N: So in the past month I have moved to Hogwarts which is half way across Britain from where I live (because Hogwarts is in Scotland as we know) and have since been set criminal amounts of work by Flitwick, McGonagall and Snape which I have been working round the clock to complete. (Snape isn't actually dead, but that's spoilers for Harry Potter 8 which is obviously coming out soon.)**

**...So alright, I nicknamed my University 'Hogwarts' and the teacher who has ridiculously hard lectures actually looks like Santa Claus, but Santa is not technically in living existence either so... you know... good approximation... *fades into back ground awkwardly*... What I mean to say is I'm really sorry for this taking about four billion Hippogriff years (I don't know, how long are Hippogriff years?) but hopefully now that it's got going again, the chapters should come a little more often! I will try my best to update as quickly as possible, and you should all know I have no intention of ditching this story until it is done****.**

**The real reason this update took so damn long is that I re-wrote the chapter three times before this final version, each one very different, and none of them felt **_**right.**_** I didn't want to give you a story that was only half way there, because that's not fair.**

**I know it's just fanfiction, but stories should always be written from the heart, because you **_**need**_** to tell them. And each time I tried to write this chapter it was always just so forced it turned out terrible. **

**One day I came home, sat down, logged on, and saw all your wonderful, beautiful, encouraging reviews. I genuinely think that it was because you warmed my heart so much that I needed to write the next part of this. Thank you so much for all your support, you have been **_**indescribably**_** lovely. It took a while to get it all into place with this chapter but I desperately hope you like it :) **

**I have a tumblr now, so if I take too long again you know where to come and harass me ;)**

** My URL is everythingisgayifyoulookclos ely. (I know you're judging me. Stop it!)  
**

**I love you all, thank you so much if you're still here! Please let me know if you liked this chapter and are still reading away! :3**


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